
COLLECTED POEMS 



CONDE BENOIST FALLEN 



! f 




Class _/ r)/l.S'#? / 

Book A "^ - 



GopyiightN^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



COLLECTED POEMS 



COLLECTED POEMS 



BY 

CONDE BENOIST FALLEN 



NEW YORK 
P. J KENEDY & SONS 

1915 






COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
CONDE BENOIST FALLEN 



THE-PLIMPTON-PRESS 
NORWOOD -MASS -U-S-A 




©GI.A420106 



TO THEODORA 

TO thee, God's gift, in whom all gifts unite, 
In token of thy gift of love to me. 
Who feels that he receives unworthily, 
I offer up this sheaf of songs, though slight 
Their worth, and poorer still the singer be. 
Yet Love through me a fervent message sent; 
And I with feeble voice made faint reply, 
As reeds to summer breezes passing by 
Breathe out a quavering music, humbly bent 
Beneath the song, a trembling instrument. 
But thou, accepting these poor leafless lays, 
Wilt make amend for all imperfectness, 
As great ones taking in the taking bless. 
And in receiving render highest praise. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The New Rubaiyat 1 

A Song of Sixpence 19 

Benediction 21 

A Fable for Lydia 23 

Treasure Trove 28 

Life 29 

Maria Immaculata 30 

Love and Death 37 

Ode for Georgetown University . . 47 

Amaranthus 60 

Youth 67 

Aspiration 72 

Poet and Bird 74 

In Circe's Den 76 

On the Death of Alfred Tennyson . 79 

Arise, America! 81 

The Raising of the Flag 84 

The Babe of Bethlehem 88 

Love Sole 90 

The Burden 92 

How Poets Play 93 

vii 



CONTENTS 

The Lower Bough 94 

Heaven 95 

Carmen Nuptiale 96 

Sonnets 97 

Retrogression 99 

The Poet's Fane 100 

The Babe 101 

The Sonnet 103 

Anarchy 105 

Vanitas Vanitatum 106 

Love's Fruit 108 

March 109 

April 110 

Christus Triumphans Ill 

Sonnet Sequence 113 

The Death of Sir Launcelot ... 121 

Aglae 149 

The Feast of Thalarchus .... 187 



Vlll 



THE NEW RUBAIYAT 

Wisdom is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by 
them that seek her. For she goeth about seeking such as 
are worthy of her, and she showeth herself cheerfidly in the 
ways, and meeteth them with all providence. . . . 

WISDOM, VI. 



THE NEW RUBAIYAT 

Old Omar, subtle weaver of the skein 
Of doubt entangled in thy muddled brain 
In that far East which saw thy distant day, 
This later hour awakes thy voice again. 

And in a newer tongue recasts the phrase, 
That doubled glibly in thine olden ways 
On life and death and those dark questionings 
Which doubt may answer not, though doubt may 
raise. 

This newer vase that holds thine ancient wine 
Is rich with lines as gracious as were thine, 
As delicately graved, as featly traced 
With clinging tendril of the worshipped vine. 

Nor deem I that the pouring of thy song 
From old to newer vessel does thee wrong; 
For deft the hand that fashioned the new clay, 
A master's hand, and, as a master's, strong. 
3 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Nor strange that he should seek thine unfaith out, 
Who felt a kindred sympathy in doubt 
In this wild day when creeds have crumbled down, 
Blown like the dust of simoons 'round about. 

For that old plaint which sickened thy soft soul. 
And to thy lips held up the poisoned bowl 
Made luscious with the nectars of the sense, 
Still sings your song and echoes all its dole. 

And though his noisy doubt the newer man 
Boast as fresh light upon the marching van 
Of progress to the piping fife of change, 
Your doubt was ancient ere his doubt began. 

For you, as he, sang faith and unfaith's strife. 
And he, as you, chants death the bourne of 

life; 
He now, as you a thousand years ago. 
Into the heart of faith drives deep the knife. 

Thy dubious hand upon the shifting scale 
Touched every trembling note, drew every wail. 
Sounded each plaint and struck each quivering 

chord; 
He now as you of old — to what avail? 
4 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

As dark a riddle is that silent fate 
To the blind sceptic of this later date, 
As ever answered not to thy light word, 
Who asked in dalliance at the outer gate. 

For truth speaks only at the inner shrine, 
Not in the tavern where they spill the wine; 
Pours only through the cleansed and chastened 

sense 
The cryptic sweetness of the living vine. 

To list thy lilting numbers' softened strain, 
And hear it chiming with the rhythmed pain 
Thy later brothers plaint on modern lutes, 
Wakes smiling comment on their little gain. 

Alas, that you in mediaeval years 

Sang all their doubts, shed all their hopeless 

tears, 
Their creedless creed in all its changes rang, 
And coined their wisdom in your shallow fears. 

Science but now, they cry with echoing bruit, 
Has plucked the higher wisdom's ripened fruit, 
Achieved the summit of a nobler view, 
And struck in wider knowledge deeper root. 
5 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Yet all the garnered learning of the age 
Has added not a tittle to your page; 
Of that first truth and last the soul desires 
Your word as wise as theirs, your wit as sage. 

Your wit and theirs both dark as starless night, 
Searching the universe with candle-light, 
Agrope within the same abyss of dread. 
Where depth grows black with depth and height 
with height. 

In vain they seek, as vain you sought, the clue. 
Where doubt makes mocking shadows of the true. 
Dissolves the answer in the question's breath. 
The doubt that asks from doubt that never 
knew. 

And echo questioned back the mockery flings. 
And doubt that asks of doubt with unfaith rings; 
Responsive to the fingers wail the strings. 
And as you key the patient chord, it sings. 

You drew the music of your plaintive strain 
From the sore grief of Philomel's sad pain. 
But dashed the sweetness of her chastened song 
With doubt, and poisoned all its balm with bane. 
6 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

You sang, and sadly sweet your olden rhyme, 
The fleeting footsteps of the phantom time, 
The dying sweetness of the hastening rose, 
Life's transient blush undone by death's swift 
crime. 

Yea, vanity in him, who lays up store 
Of hope to reap his harvest on time's shore, 
And sowing all the fields that lie around. 
Prepares the granary and the threshing floor. 

Ah, swift the courses of the rushing sun. 

And changeful are the glittering hours that run 

Twixt hope's first blossom and the blown 

flower, 
For evening sees not what the morn begun. 

And Caesar's dust beneath a peasant's feet. 
For wisdom's eloquence were theme replete. 
How levelled by the sweeping scythe of time, 
Fame and unfame in one oblivion meet. 

So has the ages' wisdom ever sung. 
And from earth's hollow glories wailing rung 
The tribute of its dole; not new your song. 
Nor new the lesson of your mellow tongue. 

7 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Though Jamshyd long has quaffed the last black 

draught, 
And Caesar, smitten by the bitter shaft 
That pricked his glory's bubble, heedless sleeps, 
Their dust but shallow soil for wisdom's graft. 

The rose you sing from Caesar's clay that blows 

Like Caesar's glory for an instant shows. 

And crumbles back to that from whence it 

bloomed; 
From dust it came and into dust it goes. 

Mortal to mortal is the primal law, 

Earth back to earth again the whole world's saw: 

Mortality is written broad and deep. 

And fools that run the easy lesson draw. 

Yes, easy is the folly that seems wise. 
And cloaks short knowledge in a long disguise; 
Easy the truth that time is swift of flight. 
The flower that blooms to-day, to-morrow dies. 

Easy to drown, the heedless cup within. 
The gruesome memory of the death and sin. 
That racked the soul with their black question- 
ings. 
And as unbidden guests of old stalked in. 
8 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

Nor you the first, nor last, to thrust them out 
And welcome in their place a reeling rout 
Who drink and question not, but steep in floods 
Of mellow vintage all the ghosts of doubt. 

Brief wisdom and short triumph your poor plot 
To cheat the destiny the years allot 
By drowning memory in a shallow cup; — 
Though now forgetting, you are not forgot. 

And while you wander in a vinous mist 
Through roseate ways as your soft pleasures list, 
The spinner Time still plies his tireless loom. 
And you and Death are drawing to the tryst. 

What answer then in that appointed place, 
When he breathes cold upon your yellowing face, 
What answer echoing from the empty cup? 
Remorse within the lees, think you, or grace? 

To-day the chosen mistress of your lot. 
To-morrow banned and yesterday forgot: 
Lo, YESTERDAY accuses from the dead; — 
To-morrow beckons for to-day is not : 

Fast running out the limit of your thread. 
To-day and yesterday forever sped; 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The whirling loom roars distantly and faint, 
And all your years are ashes with the dead. 

So careful of the present and its joys, 
Hoarding like children all the broken toys; 
The little wrecks now strew the dusty floor, 
And you forgotten with your childish noise. 

So careful now within your eager hands 
That not a grain shall waste of time's swift sands - 
The very grain you clutch has trickled through; 
To-day holds not what yesterday demands. 

To-day but borrows what to-morrow lends, 
And pays to yesterday what now it spends, 
And debtor still with nothing of its own 
A bankrupt in the hands of Death it ends. 

Why stake on nothingness the all you own, 
And cast life's ashes to the whirlwind blown? 
He loses time who builds on time alone, 
And nothing shall be reaped from nothing sown. 

What boot the pleasures of a century's run. 
If all their sweets but end where they begun 
In that swift nothing of an instant's flight, 
A prize that's lost before the prize is won. 
10 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

The years gone down into the gaping tomb 
Of YESTERDAY are dream wastes in the gloom, 
Dim wraiths of time embraced but never held, 
Visions that stare from out an ancient room. 

Sum up their all and hoard your empty gain : 
Hope crushed by fear, joy strangled in the pain, 
Life smote by death at every baffled turn, 
Dying to live and then to die again. 

And when upon the darkened verge you stand. 
Where life's faint stream is lost in death's quick 

sand, 
What garnered treasure do the senses hold? 
An eyeless skull within a fleshless hand. 

Who turns all things to uses of the sense 
Shall glean in sense his only recompense; 
For time abused shall be by time avenged; 
Life sown in death shall reap in impotence. 



You tell us that you turned from Wisdom's door, 
Sifting the heaped-up rubbish on the floor 
Of learning's vestibule, but found no key; 
And was the portal locked — are you so sure? 
11 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Think you that thus the road to Wisdom lies, 
And on the rungs of knowledge men may rise 
To that pure empyrean, as small boys 
Plant little ladders to essay the skies? 

Not all the gleaning of the labouring West, 
Nor all the knowledge of the Orient's quest 
May scale a single inch of that far height: 
Who seeketh not is he who seeketh best. 

Knowledge may reach from shining star to star, 
Enthroned on three-ringed Saturn sit afar. 
And still as distant be from Wisdom's house 
As when it beat against this lower bar. 

The door to which in vain your key you plied. 
The door you found so tightly sealed, stands wide 
To him who bends in leal humility: 
He enters not who walks erect in pride. 

You thought to compass with your little span 

The wide abysses of creation's plan. 

And finite measure infinite design; 

You — you would be God, who are but man. 

Believe th' Omniscient, who ordained the law, 
The end as well as the beginning saw; 
12 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

Trust thou th' Omnipotent, who made the whole, 
O'errules it all: not His, but yours the flaw. 

Heaven but countersigns your own decree, 
And as you sow your years, so shall they be : 
This much of fate is true, that as you plant, 
So shall you pluck the fruitage of the tree. 

The daring mind that seeks to wholly sift 
The heart of mystery, may never lift 
The veil that hides her face from prying eyes: 
From Wisdom's hand you cannot wrest her gift. 

Who would unchastely pierce her secret pale 
Shall find her panoplied in hardest mail; 
Who seeks to violate her fane shall meet 
The entrance barred and closely drawn the veil. 

The gathered lightnings shall about him play. 
And thunderous wrath shall fill his fearful way, 
Whose lustful eye would take her face unveiled; 
The sacrilege with blindness shall he pay. 

The question put the answer comes in kind : 
Who seeks in simple faith in faith shall find 
The answer; but pride re-echoes pride. 
And blind the understanding of the blind. 
13 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Who asks of Earth shall hear of Earth reply : 
Earth born of earth in earth again shall die; 
A fugitive your little course you run, 
And there return, and there forever lie. 

Who asks of Heaven an unseen voice shall hear 
Singing like chimings of the crystal sphere 
Of interstellar spaces ringing clear: 
There but a little while, forever here; 

A little while to school the impatient soul 
To read by faith the riddle of the scroll, 
That Wisdom writes in hieroglyphs of time; 
There but the lesser part, and here the whole. 

For Love gazed on the Beauty of the Face 
Of His Beloved and upward welled in grace. 
As everlasting fountains pouring forth 
Abundant floods make bloom a desert place. 

Love in creation's wondrous mirror sought 
To multiply the image of His Thought, 
And pouring forth His Power upon the void, 
In Love the likeness of His Love He wrought. 

And back again as surging flames aspire 
Creation lifts to Love's eternal fire; 
14 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

Time but the rushing of her eager flight 
Upon the outstretched pinions of desire; 

Death, the instant of the journey done, 

When all the courses of the way are run, 

The door through which departs the passing guest, 

Who goes upon the rising of the sun. 

For Love devised the plan, and Love makes test 
Of Faith to that far end that Love knows best; 
And this the message Love by Wisdom sends: 
In Faith abide, and leave to Love the rest. 

Divorce not Reason from thy failing house 
To make with concubines a vain carouse. 
But take her, prudent partner of thy years, 
To cherish chastely as a faithful spouse. 

She, too, is of celestial origin. 
And knows how close to Faith she is akin. 
Faith, her elder sister, in whose eyes 
Dissolves the secret, death, the riddle, sin. 

For Reason, modest in her household lore. 
Seeks not beyond the threshold of her door; 
Diviner truths in Wisdom's utterance given, 
Takes from the lips of Faith, and asks no more. 
15 



COLLECTED POEMS 

By Faith, and Faith alone in panic rout 
The misbelieving horde is driven out, 
Fate's nameless terror lifted from the soul, 
Fate, the echo of the voice of doubt. 

Forgetfulness in sense a sorry scheme 
To cheat the conscience and make seem 
The IS and IS NOT all a phantom show, 
And time the fading shadow of a dream. 

For Reason, drugged a thousand times and more, 
A ravaged captive on the tavern floor. 
Awakes again loathing her fallen state. 
And clamours for her freedom at the door. 

Though shamed and flouted victim of thy rape, 
She does not die; and you may not escape 
Her importuning voice, nor think to end 
The issue in the lethe of the grape. 



Come from the stifling tavern's baleful glare 
Into the sunshine and the outer air. 
With gladdened nature greeting everywhere. 
And looking up to heaven, see, how fair! 

How pure the wide savannah's vaulted sweep. 
One sapphire flame from glowing deep to deep; 
16 



The NEW RUBAIYAT 

This crystal cup hold to thy crackled lip, 
And drinking feel the freshened pulses leap. 

Drink, and clear the phantoms from thy brain. 
Cleanse from thy sluggish blood the lecherous bane 
That poisoned all the wells of life and truth; 
Drink! Look up! and once again be sane. 

With chastened sense and in the cleaner mind 
Look in pure nature's eyes, and you shall find 
A secret half spelled out and half divined : 
Within the emblem truth is not confined. 

Her secret word a faint prefiguring; 
She speaks in shadow of a higher thing. 
Like pale penumbra of the light unseen. 
The sun's veiled glory from an outer ring. 

Within the deepened shadow's darkened plot 
You sought the source of light and found it not; 
Your eyes grew dim with searching in the dark, 
And blindness out of darkness was begot. 

The shadow is but shade of hidden light; 
It is the sun by earth eclipsed makes night: 
Heaven is gracious to our little power. 
And her far secret tempers to our sight. 
17 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The need of Faith from nature's secret learn; 
Reason from Faith and Faith from Love in turn 
Draws life and light; in One see all else rest, 
And in things seen the things unseen discern. 

And though thy years are drawing to their close, 
And youth and spring have faded with the rose, 
Faith plucks the thorn of thy regret, and lo ! 
Upon the naked stem Hope's floweret blows; 

And all the garden blossoms, and the Vine 

Into Love's chalice pours diviner Wine : 

Faith holds the secret of the sacred sign; 

Her eyes search deep and long, and make it thine. 



18 



A SONG OF SIXPENCE 

Sing a song of sixpence 

And a pocket full of rye! — 

There are millions in it 

For one with a business eye. 

Then sing a song of sixpence 
And a pocket full of rye ! 

Ho, the jingle of the sixpence! — 
And will you sell or buy? 

The world is full of sixpence, 
The ways are strewn with rye — 

And have you then no sixpence ! 
Better by far to die. 

The multitude of sixpence, 
The plenitude of rye! — 

And yet I have no sixpence; 
How poor are you and I ! 

I without a sixpence 

And you without the rye — 
Lo ! Death on a gaunt black horse 

Under an ebon sky. 
19 



COLLECTED POEMS 

You sing a song of beauty, 
Your heart is full of youth — 

Whence have you wandered, friend, 
Into the paths of ruth? 

I have, alas! no sixpence, 
And you, alas! no rye — 

You sing of life in death. 
Of death in life sing I! 

Ho! there, on your gaunt black horse 

Under the ebon sky! 
And they sing their song of sixpence 

And a pocket full of rye! 



20 



BENEDICTION 

White sail upon the distant blue 

Swift flying shallop with your snowy wings, 
Here from the shore I waft to you 

A message that a poet sings. 

I bless you as you fade afar 

Where heaving sea and heaven merge, 
A faintly gleaming silver star 

Upon the trembling ocean's verge. 

May gentle winds from spotless skies 
And halcyon seas about you play, 

And all of Heaven's guardian eyes 
Keep myriad watch upon your way. 

May dolphins spout their silvery brine 
Before your swift melodious keel, 

And whitest suns upon you shine 
As fleckless days about you wheel. 

And when the far-off headland's slope 
Uprears its beaconed star above 

And lights the haven of your hope, 
My blessing waft you to your love. 
21 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Oh happy be the meeting then 

When heart beats joyous unto heart, 

And from the deep shall draw again 
Two gracious spirits long apart. 

And may that love in blessing prove 
Its kinship to my distant prayer; 

Though all the seas be my remove, 
Let me your blessing share. 

For as I pray that blessing on 

Both you and yours across the sea, 

May your fair Love's sweet benison 
In turn pour down on mine and me. 



22 



A FABLE FOR LYDIA 

Sweet Love is slain ! I saw him at your gates 
Prostrate, ah me! upon th' ensanguined ground, 
Slain too with his own arrow and by you ! 
What dreadful and most clamorous deed 
For vengeance this, Fairest Cruelty, 
Than Artemis more cruel when she slew 
The children of the tearful Niobe 
Repentant of her boast. 

Who would not weep 
Save you, to see him marbled there in death, 
His traitrous arrow in his gaping wound; 
The crimson fountain of his streaming life 
Poured out upon the pitying earth, his locks 
Astray upon his alabaster brow 
With veiled eyes beneath pale pencilled lids, 
Eclipsed in darkness. 

Woe, deep woe and pain 
Divinely bitter in the breasts of all 
The gods, and cloud about Olympian heights 
Heavy with sorrow of the brooding storm; 
23 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And direst wrath within Olympian halls, 
For that young Eros lies untimely dead. 

Zeus lays his hand upon his thunderbolt, 
And in the darkened caverns of his mind 
Wrath mutters, while at the presage of his 

frown 
O'er drooping eyes glowing with pented lightnings 
All heaven pales, and Her6 veils her face 
With trembling hands. 

Great Mulciber, aloft 
His mighty hammer swung to smite and shatter. 
Stands, a statued rage; Apollo starts 
And grips his silver bow, one hand upon 
His swiftest shaft ablaze with restless fire; 
And by him panoplied Minerva lifts 
Her poised spear keen with a thousand deaths. 
While on her shield the Gorgoned locks hiss 

wrath. 
So all the gods in fair Ol3anpus' round, 
Each in the several manners of their powers, 
Divinely angry and divinely swift 
To vengeance, rapt in the amazed rage 
Of sudden harm breaking the halcyon joy 
Of their Olympian calm, together rise 
Threatening. 

24 



A FABLE for LYDIA 

But chief the Cytherean goddess, 
The roses slain in either cheek, and all 
Her loosened tresses streaming down 
Cascaded gold in riotous neglect. 
Lifts up her voice piercing and wailing out 
Upon the shuddering winds that bear her grief 
To the four ends of earth disconsolate; 
For she is mother of young Eros dead. 

And at the foot of Zeus' throne she kneels 
With outstretched arms and slender petaled hands. 
And prays the great Ceraunian Father thus: 
''Not vengeance do I seek, Thunderer, 
Not thy red bolt upon the guilty head — 
For what avail that now to Eros slain? — 
Though just thy vengeance for the sacrilege — 
But life again for Eros, life renewed, 
Immortal save from his own arrow sent 
By hand of mortal, who o'ercomes the god 
Himself and slays him with the fatal shaft 
Aimed at his conqueror : For so the Fates 
In council sacrosanct decreed, beyond 
Thy might to break or bend — Frown not, Zeus, 
Father of gods and men that so I plead ! 
But hold thy hand ! Release the eager bolt. 
And hear me more before it be too late ! — 
For in that far inscrutable abyss 
25 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Of Fate, that underlies Olympus' heights 
And all the vast foundations of the world, 
'Twas willed of eld that only by the hand 
That breached the fatal way of horrid death 
To Eros' heart, could life be brought again; 
If that same hand but pluck the arrow forth 
And turn it on the heart that owns the hand, 
Eros again will breathe immortal life 
And gladden our high court with ancient joy. 
Stay then thy hand, hurl not the dreadful bolt! 
And seal not on the brow of Eros death 
Forever! And in her heart that slew, the barb 
Transfixed shall bring not death, but fairer life, 
For fatal unto him alone alas! his shaft. 
Straightway to earth will I with winged speed 
And seek out her, who slew my boy and made 
Olympus dark for all the gods, and earth 
Disconsolate — a goddess at her feet, 
Praying her tender pity for a god, 
My son!" 

So saying rises the mother goddess, 
And gathering, as she rises, her unloosed locks, 
With delicate and deftest fingers winds 
The glittering strands in queenly coils about 
Her head, and crowns it with their massy gold. 
And going to the jacinth parapet 
That rings Olympus height, where coo her doves 
26 



A FABLE for LYDIA 

In silvery harness to her ivory car, 

Mounts, and speeding downward to the earth 

Wings swiftly through the flowing air that sings 

In amorous cadence through the slender spokes 

Of golden wheels, and far into the deep 

Of blue below sinks from the straining sight 

Of all the ranged gods upon the verge 

Of high Olympus, silent watching. 



27 



TREASURE-TROVE 

An evening palmer onward creeps the day 
To seek the sanctuaried Sun's far shrine — 

Pilgrim, thither bear some gift of mine 
As treasure-trove when I shall come that way. 



28 



LIFE 

What bring you flaming Sun from out the East, 
Birth, death, or love or hate to me this day? 

What take you crimson Sun within the West? 
What yesterday I brought and took away. 



MARIA IMMACULATA 
I 

How may I sing, unworthy I, 

Our Lady's glorious sanctity? 

She whose celestial shoon 

Rest on the horned moon 

In Heaven's highest galaxy; 

She whom the poet sang of old 

In that rare vision told 

In soft Tuscan speech of gold, 

The spotless spouse and mother-maid. 

The goodliest sapphire in Heaven's floor inlaid, 

Around whom wheels the circling flame 

Of the rapt seraph breathing Mary's name. 

While choir to choir replies 

In growing harmonies 

Through all the glowing spheres of Paradise, 

Till universal Heaven's glad estate 

Rings jubilation to their queen immaculate. 

II 

Ah me! Unworthy I to sing 
The stainless mother of my King, 
My King and Lord, 
The Incarnate Word, 

30 



MARIA IMMACULATA 

Heaven itself comprest 

Within her virgin breast! 

How may my faltering rhyme 

Sing of Eternity in time, 

Omnipotence in human frailty exprest, 

Our earthly garden fragrant with celestial thjnue. 

What Muse, though great Urania guide her flight, 

May dare the sacrosanct and awful height 

Of that mysterious sublime 

Within the secret counsels of the Infinite ! 

Omniscience there supreme and sole 

Clasps the beginning and the whole 

Of Love beyond created sight, 

Uncreate and quintessential light! 

Before the splendor of that ray 

Cherub and seraph fall away 

Dazzled and broken by excess 

Of overpowering blessedness, 

Yet panting for the fulness of the bliss 

That breathes consuming fire from Lovers un- 

kenned abyss. 
Not through that fiery sphere my way, 
But here where shines the veiled day. 
The flames of mystery insteeped 
In this our mortal clay; 
For in her maiden breast asleep 
Lies all the Love of Heaven's deep, 
31 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The holy circle of her zone 
Incarnate Love's terrestial throne. 



Ill 

The great archangel veils his face 
Before her: ''Hail, full of grace!" 
And Heaven is clasped of earth; 
While all the circling spheres with all their choirs 
Around her wheel seraphic fires. 
Eden rises to its second birth; 
Again the prime estate 
Of man is renovate, 

And all the elder worth renewed in her immacu- 
late; 
Virgin and spouse of Him 
Who breathes the virtue of the Seraphim, 
Virgin and mother of the Eternal Son, 
Daughter, Virgin, Spouse in one! 
The spotless mate of spotless Dove, 
The one great miracle of God's love. 
From all eternity the chosen bride. 
Where Holiness untainted might abide; 
Save only her none, none 
Exempt from sin's dominion; 
Save only her of Adam's race 
Or heavenly line, none full of grace; 
32 



MARIA IMMACULATA 

On her alone, on her alone 

The torrent of His love poured down 

The deep abundance of its flood 

Into the pure channels of her maidenhood, 

The fleckless mirror of her grace 

Reflecting all the beauty of His Face. 



IV 

She looks with human eyes 
Into the eyes of Paradise; 
Upon her virgin breast the Babe Divine 
Gazes again into her eyne; 
vanity of words to tell 
The wonder of that spell, 
The ravishment of bliss 
Upwelling from the deep abyss 
Of Love incarnate gazing in the eyes 
Of his terrestrial paradise ! 
See Heaven within her arms, 
Gathered against all harms, 
Innocence by innocence addrest. 
Virgin love by virgin love carest. 
The sinless mother and the sinless Son 
For Heaven and earth to gaze upon! 
Her living image on her knee, 
the depths of her maternity! 
33 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Her God, her Infant at her breast, 

O Love beyond all utterance exprest, 

The Eternal Word in virgin flesh made manifest! 



Ye sons of Adam rejoice 

With exultant voice! 

Shake off your chains! Arise! 

The ancient dragon has no power 

O'er Jesse's virgin flower. 

And stricken 'neath a maiden's sandal lies. 

Nor may his venomed breath so much 

As her garment's outer margin touch; 

And sin's torrential flood. 

That whelmed all Adam's flesh and blood, 

Its loathsome stream turns back 

Before her footsteps' radiant track. 



VI 

Rejoice, children of men! 
Behold again 
Your flesh rejuvenate 
In her immaculate! 
Rejoice with exceeding joy, 
For in her free from sin's alloy 
34 



MARIA IMMACULATA 

Your renovated race 
In plenitude of grace 
Dare look again unshamed upon its Maker's 

Face! 
Chosen to bear the Eternal Word, 
In her your more than dignity restored; 
In her the more than golden worth 
Of Eden's prime when Heaven was linked with 

earth; 
Unstained by Adam's guilty forfeiture, 
In her your long corrupted flesh made pure; 
For of her, flesh of flesh and bone of bone. 
Eternal Love builds up His stainless throne! 



VII 

Rejoice and be glad this day! 
In jubilation lay 
Your tribute at her feet. 
Spotless and most meet. 
The mystic rose of Jesse's root. 
To bear the heavenly fruit; 
Wisdom's seat and Heaven's gate, 
Our surest advocate. 
Mother of God immaculate! 
Be glad, Adam's clay. 
Be glad this happy day. 
35 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And with accordant voice acclaim 

Our spotless Lady's stainless fame; 

Be ye exceeding glad and sing 

The mother of our King. 

And though unworthy be my strain, 

She is too tender not to deign 

To lend a gracious ear 

To this her children's humble prayer: 

Mother of Mercy, hear! 

Mother whose face is likest His, 

Who our Redeemer is. 

Grant us one day to share 

Thy happiness in gazing on His Face, 

Who found thee without spot and full of grace! 



LOVE AND DEATH 

Watcher, whose eyes are fever bright 
With peering through the dragging night, 
See you the coming of the hght? 

Long have we waited for your word, 
The revelation you have heard 
From Nature's Hps, Uke voices stirred 

In Memnon's image, when the ray 
Of morning smites his wakening clay 
To music with the coming day. 

The message that we hope from thee, 
A new evangel, that will be 
The death of foolish mystery. 

Have you not plumbed the central deep 
Of life, and sifted all the heap 
In jealous Nature's guarded keep; 

And all her labyrinth of dread 
Traversed with Ariadne's thread. 
Unmindful of the quick or dead? 
37 



COLLECTED POEMS 

We wait to hear the secret thing 
You've plucked from Saturn's ruby ring, 
The stellar message that you bring 

From other worlds, communicate 
With freedom from this lower state 
Heavy with death and black with fate. 

Beneath time's leaden mantle bowed. 
With slow step creeps the anguished crowd 
Under a heaven dark with cloud ; 

A way of toil, a path of fears 

Barren with thorns and salt with tears, 

How filmy our short span of years; 

A gossamer athwart the face 

Of upper and of nether space. 

Like smoke to vanish from its place. 

Grief in life's cup distills its gall; 
The very sweets begin to pall. 
And Death awaits to drain it all. 

What joyous message yours to tell, 
Who stand upon the pinnacle 
Of knowledge, like a sentinel 
38 



LOVE and DEATH 



Upon a leaguered city's tower, 
Awaiting rescue's golden hour 
Against the foe's encirchng power: 

See you, through shadows of the night, 
The first faint flush of dawning Hght 
Gleaming on armour burnished bright, 

The van of armies marching down 
To rescue of the fainting town 
And victory's long awaited crown? 

We weep, we suffer and we die; 
Dumb is the earth and dumb the sky — 
Feed not our hopes upon a lie! 

The race you tell us is the flower 
Of seons building with blind power 
Up to the distant crowning hour: 

I look upon the face of Death ; 

And Sorrow asks with sobbing breath : 

What is the foolish thing he saith? 

And stricken Love with lowly head 
Stands dumb beside the silent dead ; — 
She heedeth not what he hath said. 
39 



COLLECTED POEMS 

What cares my Love for prophecy 
Of unborn races; what to me 
The ghostly dream of time to-be? 

My Love but yesterday was born, 

Blossomed a rose upon life's thorn, 

And withered now, lies plucked and torn. 

Why prate about millennial hours, 
The far result of unknown powers, 
When Death is scything 'mid the flowers? 

Can you restore a single leaf 

Once gathered in his crowded sheaf. 

Or pluck the poisoned thorn of grief? 

My love is more than love of race, 

A single love for one dear face, 

Now locked in Death's unloved embrace. 

Upon the bier in Love's purview 
Lies all the race Love ever knew; 
There all the sweet in all the rue. 

Love ever grows from one sole root. 
And blossoms on a single shoot 
Upburgeoning to perfect fruit. 
40 



LOVE and DEATH 



Within the heart's red garden blows 
The splendour of its queenly rose, 
The single blossom that it knows. 

Now lies my flower in Death's cold hand, 
Its petals scattered on the strand. 
And all the garden choked with sand. 

I stand before time's ribbed gate. 
And wondering ask : Can love abate. 
Is Death the final seal of fate? 

Is Love but one sweet moment's bloom, 
An instant's flash upon the gloom, 
Then sudden ashes of the tomb? 

Can you, who scan the secret ways 
Of hidden systems through the maze 
Of heavenly hieroglyphs ablaze 

With myriad suns, — can you not read 
Some answer in that luminous screed. 
How Love from Death's iron bond is freed? 

Or you, who search the rocky girth. 
That ribs our ancient mother earth, 
For traces of the primal birth; — 
41 



COLLECTED POEMS 

What answer to Love's questioning 
From her dread wisdom can you wring, 
What word to stir Hope's fluttering? 

What gain to Love the garnered store 
Of all your microscopic lore, 
The little less or little more 

Of knowledge, if it hold no key 

To that abysmal mystery, 

Which parteth now my love from me? 

Nature you say is wheeling fast 
Downward to that chaotic last, 
When all the hours shall be but past, 

And all time bound within its zone 

Upon the void in ashes blown. 

With Death sole victor on his throne. 

Love turns with blinded eye away. 
And gazing on the trestled clay. 
Scarce knoweth now what she may say; 

Her heart benumbed with some strange fear, 
The word's hard meaning, dimly clear. 
Sounds strange upon her anguished ear. 
42 



LOVE and DEATH 



I take my love's cold hand and feel 
Its icy numbness upward steal 
Around my heart, and there congeal 

In grief's deep frost, like winter's breath 
On some lone pool upon the heath. 
When all the ground lies white in death. 

The lips are silent whence once came 
The softened accents of my name 
In discreet praise or loving blame: 

There where I plucked the flower of speech, 
The crumpled petals ashening bleach, 
Though Love in anguish now beseech 

One little word, one faintest stir, 
Like breath upon a gossamer. 
An echo whispered to aver 

That out beyond this darkened year 
Love lives and rules a nobler sphere, 
Though Death stand sceptered tyrant here. 

Alas! no hint, no murmured sigh 
From those pale lips to make reply, 
That Love herself is not to die! 
43 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Death only knows the dead are dead, 
The body sinks, the Hfe is sped, 
And all we knew evanished. 

O hollow creed and empty boast. 

That failest when Love needs thee most, 

A shattered wreck on Death's iron coast. 

Love craves and seeks a fuller life; 
Though all of Nature seems at strife 
With her, and all her ways are rife 

With signs of death, as broadcast leaves 
On barren earth when autumn grieves, 
Love heedeth not, but still believes 

Beyond the grosser evidence 

Of the time-stuffed and halting sense, 

She yet shall find full recompense. 

And from the ashes of her grief 
A hidden hope puts forth a leaf. 
That yet may burgeon for the sheaf. 

Which Faith shall gather in the grain, 
Sown in the furrows of her pain 
To ripen for the harvest's gain. 
44 



LOVE and DEATH 



And in that hope Death's stony face 
Takes something of a softening grace, 
Like light upon a barren place; 

For stirring in her frosted heart, 
Love feels the sudden pulses start, 
New life in quickening throbbings dart 

Its joyous anguish through each vein; 
And all the winter of her pain 
Weeps from her eyes like April rain. 

A hope in death! O wondrous thing! 
The desert's waste agreen with spring. 
Death's very rood enblossoming! 

Look up, trembling Love, and see 
The outstretched arms of that great tree, 
Which crowns the brow of Calvary. 

Here planted in Death's bitter root 
Upspringeth the immortal shoot 
To bear the glorious after-fruit. 

Around the blood-stained Brow entwines 
Death's barren coronal of spines, 
Plucked from a waste of withered vines; 
45 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Lo, bathed within that quickening flood 
Each sterile spike bursts into bud 
And reddens into lustihood! 

And looking now upon the bier, 
My love no longer drops a tear, 
For Death's vast mystery grows clear. 



46 



ODE 

[Read at the Centenary of Georgetown University, 
February 21, 1889.] 



When youth, O Ahna Mater, on the threshold 

stood, 
The hot thirst of fame within the blood, 
And turned with longing eyes 
To life's giant enterprise. 
Under the gilded future's spell 
Lightly we said farewell 
To these dear scenes, and down yon narrow 

street. 
With throbbing heart and hastening feet, 
Sought the jostling throng 
That o'er life's highway streams along: 
Lightly we went, Hope in the van, 
While life like music ran 
Melodiously through heart and brain, 
Each step a victory, each moment gain. 
Lightly we went : but laden now 
Return with deeper love blown to full flower 
By riper knowledge of the absent hour: 
47 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And on this day of days, 

When Uke a hundred stars upon thy brow 

Thy hundred years in splendour blaze, 

Lay at thy feet the tribute of our praise. 

As dew wept down on leaf and flower, when morn 

Grows tremulous within the east scarce born, 

Mirrors in every crystal drop the radiant sun, 

A thousand lesser lights reflecting one. 

Our loves receive thy love's desire. 

And myriad-fold return the sacred fire. 



II 

From distant lands, where in soft splendour 

beams 
The Southern Cross through silent deeps of air, 
Making a solemn glory of the night that seems 
As though angelic choirs were chanting there; 
From lands where winter's icy banners flare 
Upon rude blasts blown down in roaring war 
From solitudes beneath the polar star; 
From lands where morning's earliest rays unbar 
The gates of sleep to rouse the eager throng 
With the keen note of industry's shrill song. 
While slumbering cities into being start 
And barter roars within the busy mart; 
From lands where boundless prairie rolls along 
48 



ODE /or GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY 

In endless leagues, and towering summits leap 

To cloudless heights above Pacific's deep, 

Thy many sons assemble here 

To greet thee in thy hundredth year 

Of sweet maternity, and lay aside, 

For this brief hour, the buckler and the spear. 

As armed knights were wont of old to bide 

The truce of God, remembering Christ had died : — 

From all life's walks we come in peace arrayed; 

Where feverish Commerce plies the looms of 

trade 
With ceaseless hum, and from the myriad ways 
Of Law, whose justice-tempered aegis stays 
And turns unbridled evil's reckless blade; 
Where armed with new-found powers sage Galen's 

art 
Arrests the fatal flight of Death's dread dart; 
Where on the stormy seas of high debate 
The Nation's wisdom guides the bark of state: 
Where sweet Religion takes sublimer part 
And drawing with her threefold cord above 
Leads fallen nature up to perfect Love. 
Yet not alone thy sons that here below 
Lift the glad voice in jubilation's song. 
Salute thee, but where Heaven's starry bow 
Rounds the vast firmament with fire, a throng 
Invisible, blest spirits once among 
49 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Thine earthly sons take up the great refrain, 
Till all the blissful heights give back the strain, 
That falls a benediction on thy head 
From blessed hands of thy beloved dead; 
And thy triumphant sons thence looking down 
Flash on thy brow a spiritual crown, 
A diadem of light, whose splendour rays 
Immortal glory through eternal days! 



Ill 

When virgin Liberty yet stood 
Within the dawn of maidenhood, 
Upon these hills was fixed thy seat. 
The home of truth, and learning's calm retreat 
By blue Potomac's peaceful flood. 
Scarce then had died the furious beat 
Of rolling drum in loud alarm 
Sounding the patriot's call to arm 
Against the tyrant foe; 
While yet the reeking sod was warm 
With martyr blood spilt in the fearful throe 
Of battle, and the trembling earth 
Groaned in travail of a nation's birth. 
Came the man of peace, who bore 
The cross and laurel to the shore. 
Where sweet Cohonguroton's waters pour, 
50 



ODE /or GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY 

And planted here the sacred tree. 
And this was he 
Of that same faith and race 
With him who, taking up the bloodless steel 
To make the Nation's woe or weal, 
Alone of all the signers dared to trace 
Not only his heroic name, but native place, 
And with the dauntless front of Freedom's son 
Wrote ''Carroll of Carrollton!" 
Rejoice in thy noble stem 
And firm foundations wrought 
When minion foes were taught 
How priceless is the gem 
Of Freedom bought 
By patriot steel in patriot hands 
Against a narrow tyrant's slavish bands ! 
Around thy cradle blew the trimipet blast 
Of victory, when Liberty at last 
Burst the chains that held her bound, 
And all the land leaped at the glorious sound. 
And from the dragon-jaws of Strife 
A Nation sprang to life. 
Strong-limbed and beautiful in power 
Through mighty wrestling in that heavy hour! 
Around thy cradle redolent 
Breathed the fresh fragrance of the spring 
Of Freedom, and its vigour blent 
51 



COLLECTED POEMS 

With thine own blood, and sent 
Thy pulses dancing to the swing 
Of music born in prophecy 
Of all the glory yet to be! 



IV 

A century has rolled its solemn tide 
Along the Nation's path, and by thy walls 
The generations ebbed and died. 
Fallen in the waste of time, as falls 
Yon river to the distant sea — 
And lo! the promise of thine infancy! 
A stately palace rears its tower-capped height 
Upon thy hills, truth's templed shrine, 
Shedding, like a beacon light, 
Its welcome rays across the brine 
To outward speeding ships that brave 
Midmost ocean's storm-beat wave. 
Or homeward struggling barks that creep 
To haven from the warring deep. 
Beneath thy roof-tree's sheltering span, 
Science deep in Nature's various plan 
From lifeless dust to living man. 
Houses all her lore; and Art with eyes. 
Within whose depths all beauty mirrored lies 
As in calm waters summer skies, 
52 



ODE/orGEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY 

Kindles at thy hearth her living flame; 
And with thee dwells the gentle Dame, 
Whose smile upon the exile's wandering path 
Like light soothed time-worn Dante's bitter wrath, 
Divine Philosophy, that strikes the trembling 

strings 
To the deep note that vibrates from the sum of 

things! 



'' Not all I am shall die ! '^ - li «w 
Was the Roman poet's cry. 
Though now no conjuring priest 
Leads the fattened beast 
To the smoking altar, and the pride 
Of Rome lies buried in her dust. 
Not all, O Bard, has died. 
And thou hast conquered in the larger trust : 
Here where learning holds her seat, 
New-born generations greet 
Thee, crowning with fresh bays 
The triumphs of those elder days. 
Nor thou alone of Greek or Roman line 
Find'st here a temple and a shrine; 
The stately Mantuan, 
Who sang the Arms and Man, 
Ovid, whose melting lines in amorous flow 
53 




COLLECTED POEMS 

Like torrid rivers ran, 

The silver-worded Cicero, 

The buskined muse of Sophocles 

And trumpet-tongued Demosthenes, 

Old Homer, whose heroic strain 

Bade gods and men contend on Troia's fatal 

plain, — 
All, all the mighty train, 
Who made the heart and brain 
Of ancient letters, and who sent, 
As fountains of the firmament, 
The impetuous crystal flood 
Of their rich speech into the blood 
Of nations yet within the womb, 
Find here a wider reign 
Than universal Rome could claim! 
Ye quickening powers! no Stygian gloom 
Can quench the vital flame 
That breathes its glory round the classic name! 
Not dead, but living voices of the past. 
Not dead and to be cast 
Like blank annals of barbarian kings 
Into the void of forgotten things. 
But living souls with power to reach 
The human heart in human speech 
And bind the generations each to each. 
Leaping the centuries and giving breath 
54 



ODE for GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY 

To ancient forms snatched back from empty 

death, 
Till man in that large sjmipathy of mind 
Begot by wide communion with his kind, 
Across the age's broadening span 
Responsive greets his fellow-man! 
Not death, but life prevails, and though men's 

lives 
Drop off the stem like ripened fruit. 
Death reaps not all, the seed survives 
To strike in other soil the living root; 
So generations gathering up the past, 
Each reaps a widening profit from the last, 
And from the seed by others sown 
Wears the flower of wisdom as its own. 



VI 

Splendour of poet's song, the living light 
Of letters across the night 
Of ages fled. Science begirt with power 
To build a universe from every flower 
That blows, and Wisdom's glowing height. 
Whence the eagle mind may gaze 
Into the sun of truth's full blaze. 
Are not all the glories of thy house; 
These are thine by that high right 
55 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Which Nature's self allows 
To those who consecrate their days 
To Learning's thorn-strewn ways: 
A light of still more constant glow, 
A flame sprung from a purer fire 
Than aught of human can inspire, 
Sheds its clear radiance on thy brow; 
A glory and a light that first 
Rose from Manresa's cave, and burst 
In fiery splendour on a wondering world, 
When meek Loyola's hand unfurled 
His holy standard blazoned with the line, 
^'The glory be not ours, Lord, but thine!" 
O happy issue of Pamplona's war, 
When sank a warrior's earthly star, 
Not quenched, but with rekindled beam to rise 
And shed celestial fires from other skies! 
Where Error rears its crested pride 
Against the spotless bride 
Of Truth, Loyola's flashing blade descends 
Upon the mailed casque, and rends 
The stubborn visor, laying bare 
The serpent face that lurked in hiding there; 
With steady front against the swarming foe 
Manresa's knight rains down the deadly blow. 
As on the bloody field of Tours, Martel 
With thundering mace smote down the infidel! 
56 



ODE/orGEORGETOWN UNIVERISTY 

No carnal weapons wields he in his fight, 

For his a spiritual sword of light, 

Forged in the glowing smithies of the soul, 

By Love attempered and by Truth made whole; 

No carnage reddens his victorious way, 

He combats to give life and not to slay. 

And Uke the hero fabled to our youth. 

He smites giant Error to free the princess Truth. 

Still other conquests wait the black-robed knight, 

In other fields to wage the sacred fight : 

See Xavier come, a burning brand 

Of love to distant India's sun-scorched strand. 

And as a flame consumed by its own fire 

His wasted frame in ardent love expire: 

Beneath our skies behold Loyola's band, 

When pagan night yet palled the distant land, 

With martyr toil the savage waste explore 

From distant Maine to far Pacific's shore, 

Christ in the heart and crucifix in hand : 

No terrors daunt, no lawless wild appals 

Where love of souls the saintly hero calls, 

But onward through the trackless waste before. 

His fearless steps first tread the virgin sod. 

And consecrate a new-found world to God ! 



57 



COLLECTED POEMS 



VII 

These, Alma Mater, are thy bays, 
Thy coronal of praise, 
Wherewith thy hundred years are crowned; 
These the morning stars that rise 
To fill with golden light the skies 
That circle thy first cycle round; 
These the immortal fires that know 
No setting in heaven's wide expanse. 
But kindle with an ever brighter glow 
As years in crystal floods advance : 
We who stand upon the shore. 
And watch the impetuous flow 
Of time's river onward pour 
Into the future's formless sea, 
Dimly dream the glory yet to be; 
As in the gateways of the morn. 
When the waning stars are shorn 
Of their soft splendours, day is born, 
And the shimmering east grows white 
With the upward creeping light 
Against the westward flying night. 
We divine the glory still concealed 
By the beauty half revealed. 
Thy hundred years upon thy cheek 
58 



ODE/orGEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY 

Glowing with perennial truth, 
Sit like the first flush of youth; 
Nor envious Time may wreak 
His wrinkled vengeance on thy brow, 
And his harsh furrows plough 
To mark the rugged path 
Of his relentless wrath. 

And when our days have measured out their span 
To the last Umit of the thread, 
And we join Death's wan caravan 
To the shoreless regions of the dead, 
His dread shade shall have no power 
To blight the blossom of the flower 
That wreathes thy head; 
But as the generations pass 
Like phantoms in Time's darkened glass, 
And ages in the ever-widening void go down, 
From their dust shall spring fresh bays to weave 
thy crown! 



59 



AMARANTHUS 



Sweet quiet of death, made quieter by the sound 

Of murmurous leaves above these quiet graves 

Far from the angry city's fretful noise 

Of loud mortality forgetting death. 

Here let me rest and soothe the unquiet heart 

With myrrh of meditation, where they sleep, 

Who sleep in patient death. How still they sleep, 

Arched with the giant Hmbs of sober oaks 

Fretting the liquid roof of heaven's round 

With tremulous tracery of trembhng leaves just 

stirred 
By reverent winds! Smooth slopes the silken 

sward 
Soft o'er the silent host, like hope's green mantle 
In promise of the miracle to come, 
When at the great archangel's jubilant note 
The battlements of death shall crumble shaken 

down, 
As those proud turrets tottering tumbled flat 
Before the blasts of marching Israel. 
Sweet comfort of the mourning soul, that death 
Holds not all life within its hoary palm, 
60 



AMARANTHUS 



Nor hollow eyes of sightless mockery 
The final image of the days that looked 
Upon a living world through lucent windows, 
And saw life smile again through other eyes 
That love enkindled into purer light, 
The dawning promise of a deathless day. 



II 

Here greatness finds its kindred clod, and fame 
A common clay mingling with lowher names 
Levelled by blasts of death to nothingness; 
Here the vain lips of praise find voiceless echoes 
In hollow chambers sounding silence back, 
The phantom cries of images of dust; 
And though the shouting universe should roll 
The long reverberations of its voice 
Through all the shaking avenues of time, 
And the wide spaces of the firmament 
Tremble with all their stars to that loud cry. 
Death makes no answer from his dusty sleep. 

How quiet thy rest, unheedful of the fret 
Of time, the fiery fuming of the day, 
The feverish fancy of the restless night 
Eager for morn, and morn pursuing eve 
In hope expectant of the happier hour 
61 



COLLECTED POEMS 

That never lights except to wing away 

Again; — how quiet their changeless sleep, and 

free 
From time's illusive speed outstripping time 
As one that runs to overtake his shadow. 

Here life lays down its fardel with a smile, 
Disrobes the chafing garments that it wore 
Through all the noisy masquerade, and sleeps 
Dreamless that sleep as deep as silence is, 
And everlasting as the voiceless hills 
That time has builded to the end of time. 
Sweet music to the ear of meditation, 
The mute melodious voice of sleep murmuring 
Lethean solace to the harried soul. 
As plash of waters to the famished ear 
Of one athirst midst white Sahara's sands: 
Sweet sleep that kisses out the wrinkled cares, 
And breathes the roses' crumpled petals smooth, 
Thy cool white hand upon my forehead lay. 
As does a mother on her child's flushed brow, 
Till I, too, rest in dreamless vacancy. 



Ill 

And wouldst thou be content, soul, to lie 
In that deep emptiness, the wide abyss 
62 



AMARANTHUS 



Of death, grim depth unsoundable and void, 
Where time embouches, and mortality, 
Like some swift river in the salt sea's waste, 
Pours all the gathered fulness of its course — 
Content to lie and know not, lost to use 
Of all the spirit's powers, and swayed 
A weed along the slowly creeping wave 
Of Lethe undulating heavily? 

To rest were blesses, but to stagnate, woe: 
The wearied soul craves life not death, new life, 
The glad refreshment of the wasted powers 
To rise again in recreated bloom, 
As Hft the shrivelled stalks in long parched fields 
Under the moistening kisses of the rain. 
Abundant gladness from benignant clouds. 

But when I speak to Nature of this hope, 
Heedless her ear and dumb her stony hps. 
Like that huge image in Egyptian sands 
With Hdless eye in leaden speechlessness 
Staring the crowding centuries hastening by, 
As time were nothing and death the all of hfe: 
Nor all the framework of this universal dust 
Puts forth one Httle blossom of the hope 
Of that large other Hfe beyond death's touch; 
From dust to dust again the barren cry 
63 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Sobbing through all the empty wastes of time, 
While saddened Nature moans through all her 

days 
As life pours back its bloom to nothingness. 

Not there the answer, not there the golden gleam 
Of promise kindhng to the dawn of hope 
Ushering the fulness of the day the soul 
Awaits; but turning to the east I watch 
With Pilate's soldiers for the coming light. 



IV 

About steep Sion's walls silence and sleep, 
Twin sentinels, keep ghostly watch and tell 
The shding hours through all the heavy night, 
While Death makes lament on the icy hills, 
And mourning bends his hooded head and moans 
Presaging vanquishment, the mighty lord 
Of earth and man, since closed the clanging gates 
On guilty Adam and his weeping spouse. 

Now all the heavens stoop unto the west. 
Tremble the expectant stars with paling fires, 
And from the awakening east the soughing winds 
Like distant melodies come faintly up 
The vaulted darkness of the wasting night, 
64 



AMARANTHUS 



And through the half-drawn portals of the dawn 
Voices of jubilation seem to sound 
As from a shouting multitude far off. 



Lo! Death lies prostrate in his kindred dust, 
And Pilate's soldiers by a vacant tomb ! 
And Nature sings, for day is here, and bursts 
Her melody from blossomed branch and floods 
The enamelled verdure of the radiant field. 
Pouring its amorous gladness on the air 
In all the thousand glories of its flowers ! 
And shines the city in the golden flood 
Of morning, and golden all the encirchng hills; 
And on Golgotha's brow the naked Cross 
Glows golden with the Hght of new-born day. 

For he hath risen. Lord and King of Death! 
For he hath risen, Lord and King of Life ! 
Rejoice, my soul, and fear not Death, who died 
That day and fell before my Lord and King 
Forever; rejoice, and fear not; Death is dead, 
And everlasting Life, eternal rose, 
Unfolds immortal petals blown by Love 
To perfect fulness in perpetual light ! 



65 



COLLECTED POEMS 



VI 

In him they sleep, who rest so quietly here, 

In him to rise who sleep in patience here, 

Far from the angry city's fretful noise 

Of loud mortahty forgetting death : 

They sleep in his great peace, the halcyon cahn 

Of that deep peace the world can never give. 

Blessed their sleep in Him, who slept as they 

To rise again, as they in Him shall rise 

To sleep no more: here let me sleep in Him, 

And slipping off the weeds of time rise up 

Robed by His hand in immortahty. 



66 



YOUTH 

Out of the spacious east of life 
Streams the clear dawn of youth's fair days, 
The matin song and gracious ways 
Of the sweet prime whose memory plays 
Across the soul's long gaze 
Like far off boreal splendours rife 
With aureoles in northern skies, 
Where the white wold hes 
Illimitable to heaven's mjn-iad eyes 
In the waste night's immensities. 
Out of those auroral hours, 
Like perfume of far flowers 
Borne by the flagging breeze 
O'er intervening leas 
Of barrenness, that fragrant prime 
Comes borne sweet through wastes of time 
Across wide plunging seas 
From morn's Hesperides; 
Ere youth with irmocence sublime 
Had left the golden chme 
Of his fair matin, keen to sail 
His slender shallop to the leaping gale. 
67 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Fair through the after years, 

Across wide chasms swollen with storm 

And dimmed with mists of tears, 

Gleams the soft radiance of the form 

That youth had builded fair 

Out of the impalpable air 

Of serenest hope. 

Before life learned to grope 

Amid the sombre bosks of melancholic care. 

Whiter than the mountained snow, 

Brighter than the crystal glow 

Of virgin sunlight yet unkist 

By grosser air to amethyst. 

That lambent radiance sent 

Its paradisial rays through all life's firmament: 

Earth felt its lucent heat 

Flood her central seat. 

And her breast replete 

With its soft warmth grew sweet 

With fragrance of the bud 

Reddening to flower upon her blood; 

While from the glowing sphere 

Of the overhanging year 

Meting with variant sisterhood 

Of changeful moons the moving season's 

mood, 
Rolled virgin hynmals all unheard, 
68 



YOUTH 



Save by youth's spirit stirred 

To catch the diviner word 

Angelically murmured; 

For the heart of youth alone 

May catch the ethereal tone 

Of heaven's unseen zone, 

Youth that looks with eyes 

Seeing only paradise 

In earth's wide visibilities, 

Nor yet has learned the curse 

That locks in death the glittering universe. 

Then were all things true, 
Time all sweets, nor any rue 
Within Life's spacious garden grew; 
There youth elate 
Held royal state, 

The smiling monarch of obedient fate; 
While throned in every eye 
Honour beamed resplendent sanctity; 
And there Eve's gracious power, 
The garden's golden dower, 
As the virgin moon. 
Night's chaste plenilune, 
Lifts the vast sea's heaving flood. 
Drew all life's tides to noble womanhood, 
For all was fair and all was good. 
69 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Reign, then, Youth's Memory; 

Let me your captive be, 

And reap felicity 

In the far distant gleam 

Of that pure matin dream 

Before the hour of ruth, 

When all was sooth 

In one harmonious round 

Of diapasoned sound 

In the full orbit of unsulHed youth. 

For now, alas! is lost the gift 

Of paradise, and leap the swift 

Raucous years headlong 

Tumbled and broke among 

The splintering rocks. 

Where time's river shocks 

Against the bitter sea 

Of eternity. 

I would return to thee, 
Season of innocence 
And that fresh joy, whence 
Sounded clear the sweet accord 
Of life's primeval word, 
Deep music in far places stirred, 
When heavenly fingers swept the trembling 
chord 

70 



YOUTH 



For it is this 
That makes the bliss 
Of youth, and renders fair, 
To the wide eyes of innocence, 
All the ambient air 
Of dawn in that intense 
Clear light. 
Burning a rose white 

In the eternal morn beyond eclipse of night, 
And, breaking through 
The darkened circle of our blue, 
Flashes in the eyes 
Of youth with fires of paradise; 
This the secret power 
That clothes all earth with flower 
Of beauty seen 
Only in the sheen 
Of that deep vision 
Of the pure elysian, 
Caught by the white soul of youth, 
The unflecked mirror of the sun of truth, 
Caught and given forth again 
Into the bhnded eyes of men, 
Beauty's own celestial ray 
Blotting out the Hght of common day. 
And showering storms of glory o'er the beaten 
way. 

71 



ASPIRATION 

I can strike the minor chord and sing; — 

Is the major chord denied? 
I would sing with the sun, and chime with the 
moon 

As it sways the heaving tide. 

I would ride upon the neck of the blast 

Grasping the mane of the rack, 
When the snorting thunder plashes his hoof 

In the Hghtning's ragged track. 

Or where the battle thunders its bruit, 

There let the spirit pant, 
When death and victory mingle their note 

In one triumphal chant. 

I would mount to the topmost peak and ken 

With an eagle's sight afar, 
Swoop to the depths and up again 

Across the path of a star. 

Where myriad suns comminghng blaze 
In the marge of farthermost space, 

72 



ASPIRATION 



And system in system clangorous rolls 
Athwart the abyss's face, 

Let my soul drink in the rushing song 

Of a thousand worlds in one, 
The music of time forever dying 

And time forever begun. 

On the wings of morning let me rise. 
On the plumes of evening fall, 

With the orient clang at the gates of sleep. 
With evening unfold her pall; 

And with the course of the chariot sun, 

Let me follow the life of man, 
With the eye of heaven looking upon 

The great and the Httle plan. 

For I would sing as an Angel might chant 

Of all that he sees below, 
When he gazes down on the whirling globe 

With its human ebb and flow; 

And, summing up in one great chord. 
Bring the song to a perfect close. 

As Dante's diapason blooms 
In heaven's eternal rose. 
73 



POET AND BIRD 

To sing a fleeting song and die! 

What merit in a vagrant note 
That flutters through an empty sky 

On idly pulsing wings afloat! 

Within the ocean wastes of air 
No ear to catch its slender tone, 

Along the wide savannah's glare 
Into the seas of silence blown. 

Or if some silvern drops of sound 

From its slight stream should patter down 
Upon the vast earth's glittering round, 

In greening field or dusty town, 

Who there would heed its fleeting dew 
Drunk by the thirsty soil before 

The sun has cUmbed the morning blue, 
And life crept out from sleep's dim door? 

Yet song is native to the bird. 

That trills in heaven a buoyant stave, 

Pouring his melody unheard 

Upon the trembling ether's wave. 

74 



POET and BIRD 



And native, too, the poet's note, 

Though none to hear the distant song 

Throbbing in regions far remote 

From earth and its unheedful throng. 

For Beauty has a secret grace 

Bestowed in soUtude alone; 
Both bird and poet haunt the place 

About the purheus of her zone; 

And, winging through the higher ways 
Close to the levels of her throne. 

There catch some fragments of her lays, 
And sing the music as their own. 



75 



IN CIRCE'S DEN 

Dullard and sot crammed full 
Of the meat of the flesh, 

Gross bulk ensnared and held 
In the sense's mesh; 

Fat chops repletely fed 

On the offal heap. 
Munching a-hungered again 

In the garbage sweep; 

Epicure, bellied big. 

Homed in the sty; 
Snout stale with its ancient swill, 

Bleared, piggish eye; — 

Push and grunt at the trough 

In Circe's pen. 
Glut and roll and wallow 

And glut again! 

The poet's scorn upon you 

Brutes of the sty; 
Slaves of the trough and the swill, 

Wallow and die! 
76 



In CIRCE'S DEN 



Away! where nature is clean, 
And breath of the breeze 

Draws deep with light in the east 
And morn in the trees ! 

Flashes the gossamer thread 

Pearled with the dawn; 
Silver soft shafts of Apollo 

Gleam on the lawn. 

Close night's golden eyes, 

Pale wanes the moon; 
Twinkle the feet of the day 

In her white shoon. 

Wakens a tumult of song 

In forest green glades; 
Silent off steals the dark 

Through soft melting shades. 

Faint comes a wind soughing 

Stirring the leaves; 
Chequered shadow and sunshine 

On the sward weaves. 

Soul-stirring breath of the heaven, 
Rich wind of the earth, 
77 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Waking the heart to thy gladness 
And nature to mirth; 

These be the poet's dear portion 

Afar from the den, 
Where Circe sits watching her sty 

And its swine, that are men. 



78 



ON THE DEATH OF ALFRED TENNYSON 

Who took the laurel from the brow 
Of him, who uttered nothing base, 
And ever bore it in the vase 

Of purity, Master, thou, 

Of virgin song, when round thee beat 
The lustful rhjrthm of a time, 
That welds false passion with false rhyme 

Like some fierce Titan in the heat 

Of unregenerate desire; 

Thou, turning to sublimer spheres, 
Made measure of the changing years 

With chastest song, and, all afire 

With vestal passion fed the flame 

Of poesy with holy oils; 

And kept unsulhed from the toils 
Of grosser things the hallowed name 

Of poet. We who love thy fame 
And follow still thy luminous star, 
A beacon light beyond the bar, 

Pray now for thee the sweet acclaim 
79 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Of Avalon saluting there 
Tumultuously the pure of heart, 
Whose song e'er scorned the baser part, 

And kept the lily's whiteness fair. 



80 



ARISE, AMERICA! 

[^On the occasion of President Cleveland's Venezuelan 
Message.]] 

Arise, America! 
Justice to freedom calls, 
And freedom's mighty shout 
Thunders answering out, 
Shaking the brazen walls 
Of a despot's quaking halls. 

Arise, America! 
Hark! Valour's quickening tread, 
Through all your golden plain 
Sounding from main to main. 
Stirs e'en the glorious dead, 
Who once for country bled. 

Arise, America! 
Rolls back time's misty night, 
And lo ! the heroic band 
Wrests from fell England's hand 
Freedom's sacred right. 
Crowned on glory's height! 
81 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Arise, America! 
Ours the glorious meed 
Of freedom, heaven-sprung, 
God's youngest gifts among, 
Won only by the deed 
Of heroes when they bleed. 

Arise, America! 
Ours this sacred weal 
To guard and ever hold 
Against or arms or gold; 
Swear it, as we kneel, 
By the patriot's virgin steel! 

Arise, America! 
Better the desperate clash 
Of war and goriest fight 
Than justice cowered by might; 
Better than despot's lash 
Death by the foeman's gash! 

Arise, America! 
Twice England felt our worth, 
Twice we smote her sore 
And hurled her from our shore; 
Twice shrunk her pride's vast girth, 
Till freedom strode the earth ! 
82 



ARISE, AMERICA! 



Arise, America! 
Our valour still is true, 
Our patriot blood still flows 
Where freedom's bamier blows; 
Nor vain shall justice sue 
Our arms to justice due. 

Arise, arise! 
Ye sons of freedom shout 
Till the shaking heavens reply! 
Flash the keen steel on high. 
Swift gleaming roundabout 
The foeman's panic rout! 

Arise ! Arise ! 
Sacred the cause, and just, 
God our mightiest might, 
BattUng for the right. 
Holding Freedom's sacred trust 
Against a world's mad lust! 



83 



THE RAISING OF THE FLAG 

Lift up the banner of our love 

To the kiss of the winds above, 

The banner of the world's fair hope, 

Set with stars from the azure cope, 

When liberty was young. 

And yet unsung 

Clarioned her voice among 

The trodden peoples, and stirred 

The pulses with her word, 

Till the swift flood red 

From the quick heart sped. 

Flushing valour's cheek with flame 

At sounding of her august sacred name! 

Lift up the banner of the stars. 
The standard of the double bars, 
Red with the holy tide 
Of heroes' blood, who died 
At the feet of liberty. 
Shouting her battle-cry 
Triumphantly, 
As they fell like sickled com 
In that first resplendent morn 
Of freedom, glad to die 
In the dawn of her clear eye! 
84 



The RAISING of the FLAG 

Lift up the flag of starry blue 
Caught from the crystal hue 
Of central heaven's glowing dome, 
Where the great winds largely roam 
In unrestrained Uberty; 
Caught from the cerulean sea 
Of midmost ocean tossing free, 
Flecked with the racing foam 
Of rushing waters, as they leap 
Unbridled from the laughing deep 
In the gulfs of liberty! 

Lift up the banner red 

With the blood of heroes shed 

In victory! 

Lift up the banner blue 

As heaven, and as true 

In constancy! 

Lift up the banner white 

As sea foam in the light 

Of liberty; 

The banner of the triple hue. 

The banner of the red and white and blue, 

Bright ensign of the free ! 

Lift up the banner of the days to come. 
When cease the trumpet and the rolling drum; 
85 



COLLECTED POEMS 

When peace in the nest of love 
Unfolds the wings of the dove, 
Brooding o'er the days to-be, 
Peace born of freedom's might, 
Peace sprung from the power of right, 
The peace of hberty! 

Lift up the flag of high emprise 
To greet the gladdened eyes 
Of peoples far and near, 
The glorious harbinger 
Of earth's wide liberties. 
Streaming pure and clear 
In freedom's lofty atmosphere! 

Lift up our hearts to Him who made to shine 
In heaven's arch the glorious sign 
Of mercy's heavenly birth 
To all the peoples of the earth. 
The pledge of peace divine! 
And let our glorious banner, too. 
The banner of the rainbow's hue. 
In heaven's wide expanse unfurled, 
Be for a promise to the world 
Of peace to all mankind; 
Banner of peace and light, 
Banner of red and blue and white, 
86 



The RAISING of the FLAG 

Red as the crimson blood 
Of Christ's wide brotherhood, 
Blue with the unchanging hope 
Of heaven's steadfast cope, 
White as the radiant sun 
The whole earth shining on! 



87 



THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM 

O cruel manger, how bleak, how bleak! 

For the limbs of the babe, my God; 
Soft little limbs on the cold, cold straw; 

Weep, eyes, for thy God! 

Bitter ye winds in the frosty night 

Upon the Babe, my God, 
Piercing the torn and broken thatch; 

Lament, O heart, for thy God! 

Bare is the floor, how bare, how bare 
For the Babe's sweet mother, my God; 

Only a stable for mother and Babe; 
How cruel thy world, my God! 

Cast out, cast out, by his brother men 

Unknown the Babe, my God; 
The ox and the ass alone are there; 

Soften, O heart, for thy God! 

Dear little arms and sweet little hands, 
That stretch for thy mother, my God; 

Soft baby eyes to the mother's eyes; 
Melt, heart, for thy God! 



The BABE oj BETHLEHEM 

Waxen touches on mother's heart, 

Fingers of the Babe, my God; 
Dear baby Ups to her virgin breast, 

The virgin mother of God. 

The shepherds have come from the hills to adore 

The Babe in the manger, my God; 
Mary and Joseph welcome them there; 

Worship, soul, thy God! 

But I alone may not come near 

The Babe in the manger, my God; 
Weep for thy sins, heart, and plead 

With Mary the mother of God. 

May I not come, oh, just to the door, 

To see the Babe, my God; 
There will I stop, and kneel and adore, 

And weep for my sins, God ! 

But Mary smiles, and rising up, 

In her arms the Babe, my God, 
She comes to the door and bends her down, 

With the Babe in her arms, my God! 

Her sinless arms in my sinful arms 

Places the Babe, my God; 
"He has come to take thy sins away;'* 

Break, heart, for thy God! 
89 



LOVE SOLE 

I know the shibboleth that slips 
So oilily from unctuous lips, 
Philanthropist to finger-tips; 

The modern Pharisaic brood 
With babble of the general good, 
And shallow cant of brotherhood. 

Theirs but the mock of love, the weed 
And bramble of degenerate seed, 
The face, but not the heart, indeed. 

This truth is truth since man begun: 
True love begins and ends in one; 
The love of all is love of none. 

'Tis false we love the general man; 
True love is mightier, vaster, than 
The fetich of the common Pan. 

Centred within the single soul, 
Love finds the cycle of its whole, 
The first swift impulse and the goal. 
90 



LOVE SOLE 



Not in the blurred and vulgar mind 
Does love its hallowed image find, 
But in itself divinest kind. 

And rooted thus in single good, 
Scatters the blessings of its mood, 
And blossoms unto brotherhood. 



91 



THE BURDEN 

Let night shut out the cares of day, 
Blot out the sense of wrong, 

And in the bath of slumber steep 
The soul, till it grow strong. 

Then, waking with the coming light, 

Arise, and go thy way. 
Leaving the burden to the night 

That bent thee yesterday. 



HOW POETS PLAY 

How do poets play? 
Of their own souls 
Making psalteries, 
Whose music rolls 
Toned to the vibrant ray 
Of interstellar harmonies; 
There lightnings involute 
With lightnings, shoot 

Athwart the flagrant spaces of the day, 
Till sound ensheathed in sound, 
Music in music drowned. 
Flooding the still depths round, 

Swoon in fainting silences away. 



93 



THE LOWER BOUGH 

Rest on the lower bough, 
Whose wings are frail, 

Nor seek the riotous tops 
Lashed by the gale. 

Let not ambition tempt 

To flutter where 
The eagle's iron wing 

May scarcely dare. 

All native to the sward 

And leafy shade, 
Thy slender treble fills 

The quiet glade. 

But in the upper gale 

Thy little sound 
Were Uke a rose-leaf reft 

And blown around. 

Or in the solitude 
Of height on height. 

The flickering of a spark 
Within the light. 
94 



HEAVEN 



MOTHER 



A little child, a little child 

With childish prattle at my knee: 

I did not know how near was Heaven, 
And now how far is Heaven from me. 



FATHER 



Nay, nearer now, since Heaven holds. 
As hostage of our plighted love, 

The child that Heaven gave, and took 
To show true Heaven is all above. 



95 



CARMEN NUPTIALE 

happiest kalend in the count of time! 

1 lift my voice to sing thy golden hour: 
Of all thy circling sisters, from the prime 
Of Eve's chaste nuptials in the sacred bower 
Of paradisial innocence and love, 

Than none less gracious shalt thou prove. 

Thy brooding moment holds all future days, 

As in the tender egg of nesting dove 

Lies the sweet hope to-come, warmed by soft rays 

From love's own heart, and only pleased to bring 

Life to its joyous spring. 

Mark this most blest amongst all time's compeers; 

Of past pursuit the now accomplished goal, 

The happier dawn that lights the wakened soul 

To vaster regions in the round of years, 

To larger hopes and dearer fears; 

Till love outgrows all measured marge and leaps 

The rim of time to God's eternal deeps! 



96 



SONNETS 



RETROGRESSION 

[The United States declared war against Spain for the 
liberation of Cuba J 

We gave a solemn pledge, and called on Heaven 

To hear; our arms, we swore, were Freedom's 
own. 

To Freedom consecrate, and her alone; 
Our valour sprung from her chaste bosom, given 
To Freedom's cause forever; and her levin 

We forged upon the footsteps of her throne; 

Her sword unclasping from her zone, 
She placed within our hands, and blessed us 
shriven. 

solemn mockery of her holy trust ! 

Our troth forgot and slaked our noble zeal. 
Our brittle honour shattered in the dust! 
A riotous people drunk with conquest's lust. 

In bacchanalian rout we onward reel. 
And 'gainst her turn her own ensanguined steel! 



99 



THE POET'S FANE 

Stop! Come not anear the poet's fane 
Without the poet's robe of love; the spot 

Is sacred, red with sanctities of pain, 
That blossom flower-wise in a garden plot 

Fed by the tilth of grief and weeping rain; 

Poor flowerets dashed with sorrow's purple stain, 
Out of love's youthful shyness first begot, — 
Save with compassion's hand touch thou them 
not. 

But, if the mellowing grace of sympathy 
Wells as a kindred fountain in thy heart, 
Pour out the generous flood, — stand not apart 
Enstranged; shower down thy golden charity, 
And, fed by that great largess, thou shalt see 
These drooping flowerets bloom in majesty. 



100 



THE BABE 



How strange when thou wert not, a hf e to-be ! 
Nor ready fancy playing fondly drew 
Thine unguessed Hneaments in shape or hue, 

Wrapt in the womb of possibiHty, 

Where silence brooded o'er the darkened sea 
Rolling a soundless tide; nor hint nor clew 
Was murmured from that voiceless deep, nor 
blew 

A message on the winds to tell of thee. 

We know not whence, but like a sudden light 
From darkness flashing out, and all aglow 
With radiant light, thy being burst to flame! 
But now the unseen held thee from our sight. 
An unborn mystery, undreamed — and lo! 
Love called, and thou didst answer to thy 
name. 

II 

Sweet mystery, thou living soul with eyes 
To gaze upon the shifting scene that plays 
In ceaseless change about life's narrow ways, 
101 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And wondering gather 'neath the circling skies 

The fleeting, variant image as it flies, 

While time with nimble shuttle weaves the days 
Around thine unconcerned head, and lays 

His ghttering thread athwart thy destinies; 

Echoes of life around thee come and go 
Unheeded, Uke the muffled sounds that fill 
The lonely watches of the central deep, 
When midnight bends aloft her sable bow. 
And feathered silence falls around, as still 
As utter peace and quiet as dreamless sleep. 



102 



THE SONNET 



Within the sonnet's glittering limit lies 

The diamond's royal fire, Wordsworthian verse 
Wedding high thought with noble music, terse 

With wisdom; there the opalescent dyes 

Of love-light from a Petrarch's brimming eyes; 
The luted plaint that chastened Dante's curse; 
Miltonic echoes organ pealed, the nurse 

Of solemn sounds brought down from midnight 
skies. 

It measures with the royal tread of kings, 
And treasures wealth too precious to be hid 
In wanton rhymes and idly footed hnes; 
Or upward soaring, as an eagle, wings 
Its way to empyrean calms amid 
The tuneful silence of the topmost Apennines. 



II 

They say the sonnet is a narrow pale, 
A little garden straitly hedged around 
Where only slender flowerets may be found, 

But no brave blossom lusty with the gale 
103 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And the untempered sun; and in its bound 
Pale poets gently pipe in plaintive sound 
The sifted sweetness of love's distant bale 
On reeds all murmurous of the underground. 

Yet trumpet tongues have found swift utterance 
here 
And freedom loosed her fiery-hearted levin, 
And earth has trembled with the solemn fear 
Of harmonies breathed from the stooping 

heaven 
E'en in this slender compass closely pent 
A master's voice may shake the firmament! 



104 



ANARCHY 

[The Empress of Austria was assassinated by an 
anarchist in Geneva in August, 1898.] 

Red hand, black heart, beast with the dragon's 
face; 

Thou hundred-headed horror breathing death 
And dole across the fair world's rounded space, 

Blurring the wholesome sun with tainted breath. 

Back to thine ancient slime, blind whelp of 
wrath ! 
Amid the dragons of the prime, thy place; 

Thy law the lust of tooth and claw; thy path, 
Like Lucifer's to gaping Hell's embrace ! 

Black heart, red hand smiting her queenly breast, 
Thinking in rabid rage to rend the law. 

Blind as the snarling tiger in his quest 

For prey; from her spent blood shall Justice 
draw 

Swift strength to hurl upon thy viper's nest 
The outraged nations' deep anathema! 



105 



VANITAS VANITATUM 



Is life as empty as the poet sings 
In lamentation o'er the shattered days 
That strew the banks of time, and mark our 
ways 

With the sad wreckage of the hopeful springs, 

That promised golden havens, when the wings 
Of joy expectant flashed empurpled rays 
Athwart the far horizon's golden haze. 

And lured us on with her soft glamourings? 

Alack! the mask upon the countenance 

Of time to cheat us with the teasing thought, 

That he abides eternally, perchance; 

Till we like eager searchers, who have sought 

A fleeing form through all the giddy dance, 
Find 'neath the mask the eyes of Death in- 
wrought. 



106 



VANITAS VANITATUM 



ir 

Can it be true that time is but a breath 
Of nothingness, a shadowy fihn that lies 
Upon the senses steeped in carnal dyes, 

That bleach before the stinging touch of death; 

A moving vanity with faded wreath; 
An empty image mirrored in the eyes, 
As shadows in salt pools from shallow skies, — 

Life a pale ghost, the grave an empty sheath? 

O bitterness to sour the unfound sweet, 

The sweet pursued with ever-quickening chase, 

And still pursued, yet ever found more fleet; — 
Hasten, O Soul, hasten thy hurrying pace ! — 
Alas! thou'rt still a laggard in the race, 

Though shod with lightnings were thy rushing 
feet! 



107 



LOVE'S FRUIT 

There was a little life that beat from mine, 
A Httle hand that clasped my hand, and eyes 
That looked in mine with all love's mysteries, 
So deep, so true, so tender, so divine. 

That I could read therein the lucent sign 

Of heavenly things that speak not human wise, 
But find their utterance in the distant skies 

Where far withdrawn God's holiest secrets shine. 

And though my heart is bruised, and all my soul 
Quivers with pain, in patience I abide 
The grief that shadows all the world with gloom : 

I know that loss and grief are not the whole 
Of life, that Love is not Death's barren bride. 
But bears inomortal fruit within her womb. 



108 



MARCH 

Uproarious month! Spent winter^s djdng wrath, 
Howhng across the waste and charging down 
Upon the groaning woodland's shrieking town, 

Lashing the helpless boughs, and in thy path 

Scattering thy spoils in hapless aftermath; — 
Blow, blow thy spirit's turbulence, and frown 
Thy darkest from the sullen skies, and crown 

Thy war with all the rage that winter hath! 

Thou stormy image of the turbid soul 
Swollen with winter of its barren pride. 
The monstrous lion of anger roaring there 
With raucous breath and rending all the air 
With fearful bellowings, that rush and roll 
Mad whirlwinds heaping ruin far and wide! 



109 



APRIL 

Half fearful, half in joy, with tearful eyes 
Thou comest little maiden, tender bride, 
Timid but loving by the bridegroom's side, 

Thy feet reluctant to the path that lies 

Before thee under haK enclouded skies; 
Yet in thy heart emboldened to confide 
In him who leads thee as thy constant guide 

To the rich blooms of love's full paradise. 

Cast out all maiden fear, thou little wife; 
The way before thee broadens into light 
And deepens into all the flower of May; 
With thee is promise of the coming life. 

The glowing hour of Summer's rounded height, 
The golden glory of deep Autumn's day. 



110 



CHRISTUS TRIUMPHANS 
I 

Mors Victor 

Before thy grisly front no man may stand; 
No heart but quakes at sounding of thy feet; 
Thy coming none may flee, though ne'er so 
fleet, 
And trembling earth confesses thy command. 
From kings their crowns thou pluck'st and from 
the hand 
Of Power its scepter; thou mock'st the vacant 

seat 
Of Pride or Love; nor high nor low degree may 
cheat 
Thee of thy tribute, Lord of sea and land. 

Dreadful art thou, and terrible thy power 
Against our piteous frailty doomed to die! 
Weakly we lift our fending hands in vain. 
And crouching wait the inexorable hour. 
The thunderbolt of thy dark sovereignty 
To smite and blast us with its mighty pain! 
Ill 



COLLECTED POEMS 



II 

Mors Vida 

Babes now may smile into thy sunless eye 
And fear thee not, prone in thy kindred dust; 
No longer reck we thine insatiate lust 

Of this our crumbhng brief mortality. 

Time is our bound no more; this narrow sky 
Metes not our vision; vaster is our trust 
Than all the regions of thy moth and rust, 

Since passing now we know we do not die. 

For risen is our Christ, and with Him we; 
And prostrate thou beside His open grave, 
O Ancient Victor in thy first defeat 
And everlasting! Smiling now we see 
Thou art but shadow with a broken glaive, 
Within thy futile hands His winding-sheet. 



112 



SONNET SEQUENCE 



I care not what the colour of her hair; 

Her beauty cometh not from dark or fair: 

For round her head Love's haloed glories throw 

A luminous hght more soft and brilliant far 

Than on the evening's front its tender star 

Burns clear above the sunken sun below. 

I never saw the colour of her eyes; 

I only care to know that in them hes 

A Umpid depth that melts before the gaze 

In softer deeper Hghts expanding clear 

Into the soul's intenser atmosphere; 

And there I worship uttering praise 

To God's high craft, that he has made to shine 

Such wondrous beauty in so fair a shrine. 



II 

Love never jests, though in his words at times 
He seems to laugh in folly's motley mood, 
And like a fool makes merry with stale rhymes 
To jangle down the plaints of soHtude. 
113 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Alas! his mirth is but a mask to hide 
The gnawing fire that 'neath this mummery glows; 
Though all seem fair upon the outward side, 
Within there dwell a host of warring woes. 
Despair with paUid front now seeks to drive 
Hope from the citadel, who fain would stay; 
And so these two in war contending strive. 
While gentle Love stands trembling at the fray: 
Come thou, fair Queen, and end this cruelty. 
For Love allegiance owes and pays alone to thee. 



Ill 

What is to love? Let Love the answer give: 
It is to lose thyself, thyself to die, 
And yet in dying find that thou dost live; 
To spend thy being's breath upon a sigh. 
And draw all joy where mostly thou dost grieve: 
Yet in the breathing of thy hfe away 
New life, more hfe the fond soul seems to gain; 
And though each hope that comes, refuse to stay. 
For all that go, a budding host remain. 
To love is both to die and live again; 
Unto thine other self thyself to give, 
Surrendering all the good that thou mayst hold. 
Losing thyself to find a hundred-fold. 
The lesser yielding that the greater learn to live. 
114 



SONNET SEQUENCE 



IV 

What pain for love will not the heart endure! 
The heaviness that comes of fell despair, 
The agony of hopes that vain allure, 
And in the seizing vanish in thin air, 
Like desert images unto the eyes 
Of one, who sees a flowering paradise 
Along a stretch of placid waters cool, 
Where shades of palm shield off the burning ray, 
And yielding turfs beside a limpid pool 
Invite to rest forever and a day — 
An empty mirage by a barren way. 
As one all desolate in lonely lands. 
Cries out and prays with weak upHfted hands. 
From this sad waste to thee I cry, O Love, and 
pray. 



When she's not near, then pleasure flies my life, 
And misery and I sit down and moan. 
And make a sad complaint like man and wife. 
Who bear Love's chains when Love himself has 

flown. 
And when I think of all her presence is. 
And then do reckon all the gain I miss, — 
115 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The dead dull night for want of her clear eyes, 
The scentless air for lack of her sweet breath, 
The absent music of her fond replies, — 
Life's emptiness is but the ghost of death. 
An exile from the happy Hght, I brood 
Upon the bitterness my soul now tastes, 
In desolation worse than desert wastes 
Or polar fields of starless solitude. 



VI 

What offering shall I make unto my love, 

What worthy treasure hes in my slight store? 

When I do count its slender contents o'er, 

Alas! its poverty does only move 

To tears, that I should find myself so poor: 

Mine not the glory of great deeds in war, 

Mine not the laurel of poetic brows. 

Mine not the lustre of the civic star, 

Nor any meed that sparing fame allows; — 

How rich in worth is she, how poor my house! 

All wealth of glorious deeds at her dear feet 

I deem an offering only just and meet. 

And I, grief! my empty hands uplift; 

Alas! what hope may be for me who have no gift! 



116 



SONNET SEQUENCE 



VII 

Enclasped in thy dear thought, sweet Love, 

hold 
Me innermost and highest influence. 
As dwells within the rose-leaves' tender fold 
The subtle life that breathes most sweetly thence 
Its fragrant beauty to the raptured sense. 
Ah, soon the gentle Hfe of flowers wiU die, 
And into nothingness their beauties fade. 
But Love is an eternal gift, and I 
With it would always live, immortal made 
In its sweet largess. Then unto thine eye 
Let me be chiefest light, and colour give 
To all else thou mayst see, and all delight 
Of living make for thee; for hfe is Hght, 
And I would be the hght that makes thee hve. 



VIII 

In full effulgence flood the world with light, 
O Sun, thy fiery course soon run and die; 
And on fleet-footed flying steps, Night, 
Wheehng thy million fires in haste pass by; 
Haste, Life, and breathe this fingering day away. 
As frozen breath upon the winter air, 
117 



COLLECTED POEMS 

That suffers for the instant swift delay, 
But melts ere eye has time to trace it there; 
Or else with dreamless opiate come, O Sleep, 
And shutting out this slow-paced lapse of things, 
In deepest slumber this sad present steep. 
Until the morrow all its promise brings : 
So would I cheat slow Time, who now cheats me, 
And holds me bond, where Love alone can make 
me free. 

IX 

And why should I be born to change and chance, 
Evil's rebuff and good things gone askance. 
Time's tortuous doubt and Fortune's circum- 
stance? 
Pursuing visions Hope has made to snare, 
Loath prisoner to watchful jailer. Care, 
Lost victim of inquisitor, Despair! 
In vain succession seeking permanence, 
Emphantomed by the fleeting ghosts of sense, 
O sUding Life, what barren recompense! 
The Present from the Future borrowing blood, 
The Past forever tombing present good. 
All parts of Time a thieving brotherhood! 
Yet let my Love but look with her bright eyes. 
And all this desert blossoms into Paradise! 



118 



SONNET SEQUENCE 



I ask thee for thy love, but it must be 

In hearts that give and take this gift most blest 

Of all that dwell within the human breast, 

Sweet interchange of mutual Hberty; 

For love is no true gift, save it be free. 

And if of freedom it be not possest, 

I ask it not; for I am as a guest 

Who but receives as thou mayst give to me. 

Then say that we together shall abide 

As host and guest within Love's sacred home, 

Each gaining freedom in the other's gift, 

Each jdelding up the loneliness of pride, 

I never more in barren ways to roam. 

And thou no more on stormy seas to drift. 



XI 

MIZPAH 

Though Ocean 'twixt us pour its watery war, 
And soaring mountains frowning barriers rear; 
Though Time divide by an unceasing year, 
And Space with all its utmost limits bar. 
Yet in His watching ever art thou near, 
And I from thee can never be afar. 
119 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And Love, that built this universal frame, 
And thy sweet heart that beats all love for me, 
Breathes benediction in that holiest name 
Of love with promise of eternity. 
So sealed by that dear bond we twain shall go, 
Unsundered by the walls of Time and Space, 
Together through the sounding pass of woe. 
Till that high Love look on us face to face. 



120 



THE DEATH OF SIR 
LAUNCELOT 

So groaned Sir Launcelot in remorseful pain, 
Not knowing he should die a holy man.'' 

TENNYSON. 



THE DEATH OF SIR LAUNCELOT 

At Canterbury seven years a monk 
Sir Launcelot had abode. For Arthur passed, 
And all the goodly fellowship of knights 
Broken and scattered through his mighty sin 
With Guinevere, he sought to purge his guilt 
By prayers and fasting and the biting scourge 
Within the holy life, till chastened love, 
Freed from the clogging dross of earthly passion. 
Leap a shooting flame upward to Heaven. 

Seven years he there abode, and ever grew 
To holier ways in spiritual might 
As great as erst his prowess in the lists, 
When first amongst the knights he overthrew 
All comers in the jousts and won the prize. 
And there he learned the smallness of his fame 
And all the greatness of his sin with power 
To drag down Arthur's mighty realm to ruin. 
And from the bitterness of that vast grief 
He fed his soul with constant tears to bloom 
In penitential fruits, for he was come 
To be a holy man with gift to see 
That time is shadow of eternity, 
123 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And all the uses of our mortal hours 

But vanity, save as the generous seed 

Sown for the reaping in high heaven's demesne. 

And so Sir Launcelot waxed in holiness; 
And from the ashes of his sinful past 
Stirred by the ceaseless breath of penitence, 
Blew, first, the fainting spark of higher love. 
And last, the glowing fire, whose lambent flame 
Eat out the grossness of the carnal will. 
And, then, with ardent tongue aspiring leaped 
To union with celestial fires, whence came 
The heat and quickening of its swift desire. 

And in the furnace of that inward love 
The man was changed beyond all mortal knowing; 
For he had dwined away to ghostliness. 
Until the shining spirit burned and glowed 
Through flesh and bone worn to translucency. 
And all his face shone hke Sir Galahad's, 
Who saw the Holy Grail, and like to hers, 
The virgin sister of Sir Percival, 
Who sent the deathless ardor of her eyes 
In Galahad's, and made her virgin purpose 
One with his virgin will, forever wed 
To chastity and to the higher life. 
Till caught up in an ecstasy he passed 
124 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

Beyond, in vision of the Sacred Cup. 

But Launcelot came to holiness by penance, 

Like stubborn ore seven times over passed 

Through the refiner's fire, till it come forth 

Pure golden, purged of all its earthiness 

And alien dross. For many ways has God 

To draw His creature to Himself, and steep 

It in the gracious furnace of His love : 

Some as Sir Galahad through innocence. 

Whose white flower blossomed from his cradled 

years, 
Some as the holy nun through human love. 
Which rooted first in man's frail faith withered. 
But after grew to fruit in heavenly soil; 
And some as Launcelot through the dolorous way 
Of penance cleansing all the sinful past 
With prayer and fasting, till this mortal house 
Grow luminant with grace, and in the eyes 
The Spirit shines with love's interior flame. 
Like windows glowing with an inner light 
From out an ancient hall, wherein they hold 
High feast for coming of their absent lord, 
After long years of exile from his hearth. 

For after that great battle in the west. 
Where Arthur smote the traitor Modred down, 
And wounded sore was borne by Bedivere 
125 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Down to the margin of the sleeping mere, 

And went into the barge that hoved there, 

And passed with those three hooded queens, who 

holped 
The fainting king unto the happy isles, 
Sir Launcelot, heavy with the grievous word, 
Came back from over seas, and sought the queen 
At Almesbury, whither she had fled the wrath 
Of Arthur, knowing not the king would come 
To bless her with forgiveness, not to bane. 

And there to be a holy nun the queen 
Abode and clothed herself in black and white, 
As nuns are wont, veiUng her beauty's fire 
With weeds of penance, as evening's ardourous 

star 
Burns all enclouded in the vapourous west, 
When heaven weeps a dying day of autumn, 
Sinking behind grey banks of broken storm. 

And hither over seas Sir Launcelot came. 
When Arthur passed and bold Sir Gawain died; 
And sought the queen, thinking within his heart 
Old thoughts, that came and went and came again 
Like sudden birds on winter's leafless boughs 
Chattering a noisy chorus for the food 
They find not, locked within the whitened land 
126 



The DEATH 0/ S I R LAUNCELOT 

Forgetful of the summer's lavishness. 
And so the memories of the summer hours 
Came fluttering in the winter of his grief, 
Where all was barrenness, and found no place 
Of solace for the bitterness of joys 
Long past, remembered sweets but present pangs. 
And all the glamour of his fame died out 
Within his heart and lay in dust and ashes, 
Like fires gone out within a wasted land. 
And making lamentation for his sin. 
His soul grew black as death with gathering pain 
At seeing the vast emptiness of Hfe 
Wrought in the vanity of things long passed; 
And all the shadows of his vanished days 
Trooped mockingly before him as to say: 
''Behold the wraiths of thine own deeds misdone, 
And all the hollo wness of time misspent." 
And pointing ghostly fingers at him, jeered 
Accusingly, and beat him down in shame. 
And what of good and pure he once had wrought 
Drew back affrighted, wailing at the strength 
Of evil deeds grown old with years of custom. 

And so as in a swoon Sir Launcelot lay, 
Sunk in the blackness of that ghostly night, 
Unrecking time and all the world about: 
And from the dripping east the sunless day 
127 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Rose heavily, and wheeled a clouded arc 
Through weeping skies down to the shrouded 

west, 
And sank in darkness, o'er the world's blurred 

rim. 
And the bare woodland's leafless limbs made moan 
With requiem winds dirging the dying year, 
That, whisthng through the empty rookeries, 
Shrilled ghostly music in the abbey towers. 
But Launcelot lay and heeded not, lost 
Within the deeper night that whelmed his soul; 
Till on the second day the abbey bell. 
Clanging its noisy message o'er the walls, 
With sudden onset smote his startled ear. 
And roused his smothered soul from out its swoon, 
While through the wakening senses poured the 

tides 
Of hfe in rushing streams of sight and sound. 

Then rising up Sir Launcelot strode a pace 
And reeled with giddiness, but onward pressed 
And stood before the abbey's massy gates; 
And thereon smiting with his hilted sword, 
The startled corridors grew clamourous 
With rephcated echoes rumbling far 
Like distant thunder through the cloistered cells, 
And into solemn silence died again. 
128 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

And hearing, Guinevere rose up and paused; 
And all her heart went trembling through her 

limbs; 
But praying on high God she called to stay 
Her weakness, and in the sacred power of prayer 
Gathered the scattered forces of her will. 
Resolved against herself and him, who came 
To plead against her better self and his. 
Once only, for a little moment swayed 
Her resolution, when she heard the craunch 
Of armed footsteps on the virgin flags. 
Wavered a sudden instant, then rooted firm. 
And Launcelot coming saw, and stood amazed. 
Scarce knowing her; for all unlike the queen. 
Whose beau'^y flashed of yore in Arthur's 

court 
From snowy arms of rounded perfectness 
And shoulders purer than the Uly's glow. 
Crowned with a wanton wealth of sunny hair 
Above the fulness of her columned throat. 
Her queenly stature rose before him robed 
And veiled in solemn folds of black and white, 
Her lustrous beauty chastened and eclipsed, 
Yet temperately shining through her garb 
Of soberness, as pearls a radiant moon 
Behind a fleece of clouds illuminate 
With hidden light. 

129 



COLLECTED POEMS 

With broken voice at first, 
Like brooklet hesitating over flats 
And shallows, but gathering fuller flood and depth 
At last flows smooth and strong through widen- 
ing fields. 
She spake to Launcelot sunken on his knee 
In knightly courtesy: '^ Through thee and me, 
Sir Launcelot, all the goodliest fellowship 
Of knights the needful world has ever seen 
Is utterly dispersed, and Arthur's work. 
The building of a realm of love and law. 
Wherein the man is lord of beast and lust. 
And Christ is King (0 bhnd was I not seeing!) 
Is all undone; and treason, war and death 
Have seized upon the realm and ravened it. 
Laying the land all waste and desolate; 
Till wolves now sniff the blackened hearth, where 

men 
Were wont to sit before their household blaze; 
And all the fields lie choked with riotous weeds, 
Where waxed the bearded grain laughing to 

heaven 
With plenty, sowed and reaped in Arthur's peace. 
From shore to shore through lengthening year to 

year. 
Through me and thee hath all this ill been wrought; 
For in our sinful love this grief has come 
130 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

Upon the land, and on us lies the dole 
Of unpurged guilt, who sinned so easily 
And erred so greatly, seeing now how deep 
The wound we wrought so hghtly, and how sore 
The hurt, whence comes confusion and the death 
To all that Arthur built so beautiful. 
So wit thou now, Sir Knight, my soul's sad plight, 
And how I seek God's pardon having hope 
In Christ's high blood for my soul's after health, 
And yet to see His Blessed Face through grace 
Of God when I have purged me of my sins 
In this quiet house of prayer, and laid aside 
The frailty of this flesh through which I sinned. 
For well I know in heaven is many a saint. 
Who sinned as I, yet after won the height 
By Christ's dear mercy and his precious blood. 
Wherefore, Sir Launcelot, I beseech thee go; 
Leave thou me here to work my penance out. 
That rooting up the tares of time abused, 
I sow celestial seed for heavenly gain; 
For well as I have loved thee sinfully. 
My heart forbids I love thee shamefully. 
As once I loved forgetful of my place 
And that high destiny wherein I failed; 
And this I pray for thy soul's health and mine. 
Farewell! betake thee to thy realm again. 
And guard it well from war and wrack, and there 
131 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Take thee a wife for joy and for an heir 
To bear thy name and do thy work hereafter; 
Till righted be the wrong of our misliving, 
And from the ashes of the dolorous past 
Push forth the blossom of a fairer hour, 
In promise of the nobler fruit to come 
Now bUghted by the canker of our loves." 

And Launcelot kneeling bowed his knightly head, 
And felt his heart strain 'gainst his corselet's 

girth, 
Well-nigh to bursting with the swollen floods 
Of grief surging and shocking in his ears 
At thought of his unknightly faithlessness. 
Made naked and ashamed by utter truth 
Of her calm words accusing and accused. 
And groaning answered Launcelot sore at heart: 
''Would ye, sweet Madame, that I go again 
Unto my country? Nay, I never shall; 
Nor take me there a wife; for on high God 
I call, that I in thee have ever had 
Mine earthly joy, and false shall never prove. 
Now wit thee well, I make a knightly vow, 
That ne'er again in other shall I joy; 
But that same choice which thou hast made, I 

make; 
And hence will seek the holy life to mend 
132 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

My grievous past for Jesu's sake and health 

Of mine own soul. For now I see full well 

The mickle vanity of praise, and how 

A summer cloudlet puffed by wanton winds 

Our slender hour of fame is blown and lost 

Within the endless vaultage of the skies. 

No more I seek the glory of the field 

Or tourney's prize, a Uttle dust of deeds 

Raised by the fitful breath of jealous time 

To settle back upon its native earth 

In dust again beneath the heedless feet 

Of men remembering not. And since, my Queen, 

Ye have renounced the sounding world's rank 

pomp 
To seek the perfect way for Jesu's sake, 
I one with thee in all that grievous past, 
And knowing now the canker at the root 
Of love that runneth not the course of God, 
Must needs of right seek out the prayerful way, 
And follow it with hope in Christ's high blood 
Of sin forgiven and of pardon won. 
Farewell! and I beseech thee let thy voice 
Go up to heaven for me as mine for thee, 
That seeing how we wronged high God together, 
And each made other's hurt in either's love, 
Together we may storm the citadel 
Of His vast mercy, each in other's prayers 
133 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Winning Christ's healing for the other's wound." 
And saying Launcelot rose, and going passed 
The abbey's massy gates, that closed behind, 
And sent their muffled clang to where the queen 
Stood, a statue marbled into grief, 
Then like a fainting lily swayed and fell 
Prone, till ministered by tender hands 
Of holy women loving and beloved. 

And Launcelot through the naked forest rode, 

Like one who wanders witless in a dream, 

Nor heeded aught the roar of lashing boughs 

Tumultuous with tempestuous blasts icy 

With winter and keen as fangs of famished wolves. 

A day and night he rode, nor recked the way, 

Till on the morning of the second sun 

He chanced upon a hermitage, where dwelt 

A holy man wasted with fasts and prayer. 

And Launcelot there alighting knelt him down, 

And crying out besought the holy man 

To shrive him and assoil him, come to make 

Amend to Heaven by penitence and prayer 

For years of guilty love heavy with hell. 

And knowing him the hermit blessed and spake 
Large words of comfort and of Jesu's love, 
And to his crying barkened shriving him; 
134 



The DEATHo/ SIR LAUNCELOT 

And bade him strip him of his shining mail; 
And on him placed the habit of a monk, 
The sober garment of the world of prayer, 
And token of the will to perfect Hfe 
In him who walks no more the paths of men 
But treads the single way of Christ. 

So dwelt 
Sir Launcelot at the hermitage, a monk 
In arduous striving for the perfect life. 
And fierce at first the struggle with the flesh 
Tyrannous with th' unbrooked sovereignty of 

years. 
And lean and hollow-eyed he waned ghost-like, 
Wrestling against the might of evil habit 
Grown stronger year by year as saplings grow 
Ring by ring into the stubborn oak. 
And beaten down a many times he rose 
Again by strenght of prayer and penitence, 
And slowly waxed in spiritual power. 
Oft-times when heaven stood at middle night, 
And all the world was laid in sleep, there came 
Upon him half awake and half adream, 
Soft phantoms wooing him with sensuous breath 
To break his steadfast will and drag him down. 
Anon Queen Guinevere bent over him 
And swept his lips with velvet touch of hers, 
135 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Or Vivien, her almond eyes half veiled, 
From under drooping lids shot languorous light- 
nings; 
Or Queen Iseult tossing resplendent arms, 
Her raven tresses streaming down about 
The snowy drifts of gleaming shoulders, beckoned 
And called with amorous parted lips breathing 
The heavy sweetness of the ripened rose; 
And Launcelot starting up and crying out 
Beat 'gainst the hollow air with frantic hands, 
And heard, or seemed to hear, a mocking laughter 
Drifting away into the outer night 
With muttered imprecations echoing back: 
And on him stood great drops of agony. 
Lest yielding, e'en in thought, he fall again 
Into the noisome pit, whence he had toiled 
To purer heights. And seizing on the scourge 
That ever lay beside his hand, he smote 
The recreant flesh and beat the lusting down. 
And fell to prayer; till morning creeping up 
The murmuring east noosed all the hills with Hght, 
And wold and dale and all the shadowed woods 
Silvered with benediction of the dawn; 
And Launcelot, overwearied, kneeling slept. 
And dreamed no more. And so at last he quelled 
The flesh, and made it subject to his will, 
As docile as his knightly charger once 
136 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

To voice and rein in joust or roaring war. 
Thus broken was the power of hell to weave 
Foul phantasies before his dreaming brain, 
Wrought from the sensuous vapours of the past, 
Like Ungering mists above a dark morass, 
Until the sharp pure air of heaven blow 
And drive the fetid shades away, and down 
From crystal spaces shine the steadfast stars. 

But one sole victory gaineth not the walls 
Of Heaven, where battlemented gleams afar 
The City of the Saints ruby with love. 
And Launcelot longing for that distant glory, 
As keenly as of old for human fame, 
Strove mightily in prayerful contemplation 
To win the flashing splendour of the height. 

But God, lest he should lean upon himself 
Forgetful that the soul is tempered true 
Only within humility's black forge 
Under the hammer of adversity, 
As ruddy iron under the smith's swift blows, 
Withdrew Himself, and left him desolate. 
And Melancholy breathed her heavy night 
Upon his soul, and leaden weighed him down 
To an abysmal darkness void and stern: 
And caUing out in agony his voice 
137 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Went from him echoless, and silence pierced 
Him through and through like sword of ice numb- 
ing 
His speech and freezing all his powers of thought, 
Save only the black memory of his sins, 
That ever rose a creeping tide of foulness 
To whelm him under; and isolation spread, 
Deathlike, without the blessedness of death, 
Innumerable spaces round about, 
Until the universe seemed blotted out 
Of time and place, and he, sole being plunged 
In nothingness, shuddering in the void 
Ravened by utter emptiness of self. 
Then sudden seemed he snatched and lifted up 
Within the grasping of some mighty palm. 
And set down in a solitary waste 
Of blackened sand and rock blasted of eld 
By primal fires; and poured out like a pool 
Of leaden waters lay his sluggish soul 
Within a hollow of the barren plain. 
So dun no star thereon could find its shadow. 
Though all the heavens blazed with arrowy 

lights. 
A voiceless shade upon its banks he stood 
Gazing with fearful eyes, that could not weep, 
Upon the heavy surface of the pool. 
That slowly stirred with sluggish undulations 
138 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

Oozing and bubbling up from slimy depths; 
And therein creeping creatures foul with mire 
Rose writhing twisted in a hundred knots, 
Uncoiling serpent shapes that coiled again, 
Flickering malignant tongues and hissing hate. 
And from the distant gloom of circhng sands 
Came hollow laughter, pealing mockingly. 
And gibing voices shriUing as to say: 
''Behold thyself, that thinkest to take high 

heaven !'' 
And 'twixt the wriggling horror of the pool 
And those shrill voices seemed he plunged in hell, 
Cast out of Love and doomed of God forever. 
Nor could his tongue find utterance, nor prayer 
Wing upward from his heart in utter shame 
Of his unworthiness, seeing his soul 
Spilled out in all the foulness of his sins. 
And so he seemed to stand eternally, 
Helpless and hopeless, scorned of Heaven and 

Hell. 
Then sudden on the far horizon shone 
A httle Ught that grew resplendent coming, 
And growing flung lances of fire across 
The sands scattering the shadows of the waste. 
Till all the pool was silvered into white; 
And looking, he beheld it crystal pure! 
And all the air glowed red with crimson flame, 
139 



COLLECTED POEMS 

That wrapped him close and ravished him with 

sweetness; 
While round him swept the radiance of a host 
Charging as from a leaguered city's walls 
To rescue of a fallen knight begirt 
By hurtling foes; and in the crystal pool 
Behold — its gleaming towers and turrets mir- 
rored — 
The city of God rose-red! And all its walls 
Were thronged with aureoled saints shouting 

Hosannas, 
And waving golden palms; and parapet 
And base, and all the glowing space between, 
Builded of serried ranks angehcal, 
Arm Hnking arm and wing enfolding wing, 
Breathed harmonies of blended canticles 
Flaming Hke fountained fire, that spouted forth 
Rivers of rushing melody flooding 
Swift Hght leaping in seas of glory, 
Till height responsive unto height trembled 
With song of all the Sons of God crying, 
''Behold the Love that conquereth forever!'' 

And Launcelot by that splendour pierced and 

rapt. 
Was lifted from the night of desolation. 
And made to shine in spiritual glory 
140 



The DEATH o/SIR LAUNCELOT 

Upon the heights of holiness, and knew 
His mighty sin forgiven and Heaven won 
By utter gift of God, who casteth down 
And lifteth up out of pure love to win 
His creature to Himself. 

And ever after 
The vision of the City of the Saints 
Abode within him, shining in his eyes 
With holy flame and lighting all his face 
With love, till they that looked upon him, mar- 
velled. 
And as a music playing was his presence. 
Making glad harmonies with all about. 
Till savage beasts ate gently from his hand, 
And birds came fluttering round him lovingly; 
And when he passed the rose flamed deeper red, 
Unfolding all her heart and breathing out 
A richer perfume to the joyous air; 
So great was love within him shining forth. 

And when Sir Bors, and others after him, 
Came seeking Launcelot, finding him a monk 
They marvelled greatly seeing him so changed. 
But by the deathless fire allured, that burned 
Celestial beacons in his eyes, and held 
By music of his voice that seemed attuned 
141 



COLLECTED POEMS 

To heavenly choirs, they would not forth again 
Into the discord of the world : and won 
Through Launcelot to the love of higher things, 
Abode with him and took the ashen garb 
Of penitence; and following Christ alone 
Strove ever for the perfect hfe; and so 
There gathered round him seven knights, who erst 
Had followed him and worshipped him; and now 
They followed him no less, but worshipped God 
Alone, by his ensample drawn and led. 

And now the seventh year in heaven's orb 

Had wheeled its round, since Launcelot sought 

the perfect hfe; 
And it was close upon the Easter hour, 
When earth had cast her winter weeds aside. 
And baring all her breast to wooing suns. 
Felt slender flutterings of the baby spring 
Stirring within her quickened zone, while field 
And forest prescient of the coming hour, 
Grew tender with the creeping sap tinging 
The melting wold with hesitating green, 
And softening all the boughs with timid buds. 
And Launcelot granted by Heaven to know his 

hour. 
That he should pass at Easter-tide, calling 
His seven brethren, spake in ghostly words 
142 



The DEATH 0/ SIR LAUNCELOT 

Clothed with the sad authority of death : 

"Now ye who love me in the love of Christ, 

Hearken my words, who am about to die; 

For keen was I for earthly fame, loving 

The incense glory from the lips of men, 

Not knowing then the higher hfe in God, 

Nor seeking Him, but serving mine own honour, 

Encrowned by pride upon a throne of sand. 

And lusting in the flesh I lived my life 

Besottedly, and God's high purpose turned 

To basest use, making of human love — 

Whence flowers our kind upon the stalk of time 

For God's own plucking in eternal Ufe — 

A sink of passion and a pit of death. 

And sinning in the flesh with one that stood 

Upon the pinnacle of mortal greatness, 

Made sin a brazen trumpet to the world. 

Till others from our scandal drawing license 

Sinned also, bUndly deeming that light fault. 

Whose foulness borrowed lustre from high names. 

And so the sins of many burdened me 

Besides mine own, and weighed me down in 

shame. 
But God, who willeth not the sinner's death, 
Is mighty in His Love, whose arm is mercy 
And reacheth out to snatch us from the hell 
Our sin has made, if we but will to come. 
143 



COLLECTED POEMS 

And I that hung upon the trembling brink, 
Was plucked from those eternal gulfs of loss 
By power of Jesu's blood spilled for us all; 
And though unworthy, crying out was heard. 
For marvellous the grace of God; and none 
So low, but he may rise and Hve again. 
Putting forth buds of righteousness by heat 
Of that high Love faUing upon the seeds 
Of penance sown within the furrowed fields 
Of humbleness; for pride resisteth grace. 
And they that will not are as barren rock. 
Wherefore in me see God's great miracle 
Of Jesu's love triumphant over sin; 
For none was greater sinner in the flesh 
Than I, whose sin was more than lust, seeing 
It grew to be the scandal of the realm. 
And sapped the props of Arthur's house to ruin. 
But God encompasseth the wickedness 
Of men, and though we break His ordinance. 
And send sin's discord through the groaning 

world, 
And see no heaUng of the hurt in time, 
The arms of love eternally uphold, 
And Mercy maketh music in the heavens, 
That girdle us arround with harmonies 
Unheard save by the spiritual ear 
Beyond the lagging sense's evidence. 
144 



The DEATH of SIR LAUNCELOT 

And he that feareth justice findeth mercy 

With outstretched arms to take him to her 

bosom 
As mothers take the thirsting babe to breast; 
But he that scorneth mercy and will not, 
Within the hands of justice shall be held 
Apart, eternally shut out from Love 
Inviolate, that wooed him all in vain. 
Wherefore that all who knew me in the weeds 
Of worldUness, may see in me the flower 
Of mercy burgeoning by Jesu's love, 
I pray ye bear my body through the land. 
When I am dead, to Joyous Gard, and there 
Let all men come to look upon my face, 
That seeing, they may know the ways of God, 
And in the knowing some amend be done 
For my great sin." And ceasing, quiet as waters 
Flowing from shallows into deeps, his voice 
Grew still, and o'er his face death's shadows crept 
As dayhght waning ashens into night; 
And breathing deep in one long-drawn sigh, 
As sleepers breathe, his soul went gently forth. 

And kneehng all his brethren prayed high God, 
And wept for love of him, and yet withal 
Felt gladness, knowing him a holy man. 
And how he longed for Heaven, not fearing death. 
145 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Then rising up, with reverent hands they placed 
Him on a bier, and going forth took road 
To Joyous Gard. 

And it was Easter-tide, 
And all the earth had quickened into flowers, 
And all the air was redolent of May; 
And cope and copse rang revelry with songs 
Of feathered joys awaked from winter's sleep 
By new-born suns within the tender blue 
Of skies liquid with spring's ethereal breath. 
And through the joyous season as they went 
The gladness of the world lifted their hearts 
Thinking upon their risen Lord and death 
O'ercome by his great victory, and how 
The man they bore had won the eternal pearl. 
And such a fragrance from him came as seemed 
Death had no part in him, and on his face 
A Hght as from a lamp of holy oils 
Burning before the body of our Lord. 
And all their going was a sweet spring tune, 
SweUing from earth and air and blossomed brake: 
Above the bier carolled the wheehng birds; 
The little creatures in the grass chorused 
A soft insistent note, and in the fields 
The grazing kine lifted their patient heads, 
And lowed a mellow greeting as they passed. 
146 



The DEATH o/SIR LAUNCELOT 

From thorpe and town the people came and gazed 
At them, and wondering looked upon the face 
Of him they bore, and seeing greatly marvelled, 
And followed reverently: so when they came 
To Joyous Gard, the multitude had swelled 
Unto a host, as when a people come 
In homage of a king. And in the quire 
They laid him down, that all might come and see. 
And noble lords and ladies came and saw. 
And marvelled thinking on the grace of God. 
And many that were still in sin were changed. 
And followed Christ thereafter. And lastly came 
Sir Ector, Launcelot's brother, making dole; 
But when he saw his face he wept no more. 
And straightway casting off his sword and helm, 
He vowed him after to the holy life. 

And now twice seven days Sir Launcelot lay 
On loft, and all the people came and saw. 
And none that came but marvelled seeing him, 
And all the whiles his seven brethren sang 
And read the psalters over him and prayed, 
Their voices going up both night and day 
Like incense from a golden censer swung. 
And on the fortnight came the Bishop there, 
And praying sang a requiem over him. 
And offered up the Holy Sacrifice 
147 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Of Christ's own Blood and Body for his soul; 
And when the Sacred Host was lifted up, 
Blood red it shone, and rosy sparkles flashed 
Through all the quire, and sounds of voices came 
From far off like a mighty host rejoicing, 
Then died away as of a people going 
Within a city's gates; and fading waned 
The rosy red upon the chancel's walls 
Like evening's purple with the setting sun. 



148 



AGLAE 



A DRAMATIC POEM 



PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 

Aglae, a young Roman Matron. 
Boniface, Steward of Aglde^s Estates. 
Cyprian, a Christian Priest. 
Lavinia, Maid to Aglae. 
A Band of Christians. 



aglAe 

A DRAMATIC POEM 

SCENE I 

Atrium of Aglde's house in Rome. A fountain 
playing in the centre. The Lares and Penates at 
the entrance on either side. Present: Aglde and 
Lavinia. Lavinia weaving. Aglde seated near hy 
in a disconsolate attitude. Time: the beginning of 
the fourth century. 

LAVINIA 

Sweet mistress, thou art sad. 

AGLAE 

'Tis strange, Lavinia: 
I know not why, but all my soul sinks down 
With sadness, and the spirit's airy wings, 
That once stretched lightly in the irised sun, 
Droop drenched and draggled now with constant 

tears ! 
Why am I sad, when all else seems so glad? 
151 



COLLECTED POEMS 



LAVINIA 

Tis hard sometimes to tell. 

agiAe 

It seems so strange 
That I, whose years are crescent yet with youth, 
When life and love are at their fullest tide, 
Should feel as one whose pulses slow old age 
Has laid his icy fingers on and chilled 
Their ruddy currents into sluggish streams 
Creeping through frozen channels. 

LAVINIA 

Perchance 
Thou'rt ill and needst the doctor's care. 

aglXe 

Tis not the body's ill that wounds me so, 
But some distemper of the soul, that chills 
And dulls the mirror of my joy. My heart 
Is bared to autumn's melancholy winds 
Complaining of lost summer's happiness; 
My boughs are stripped of all their countless 

blooms, 
Whose flame once took the enamored air with 

sweets, 

152 



AGLAE 



And naked of their leafy loveliness 

Serve but to catch the drooping heaven's tears 

And weep them to the ground. 

LAVINIA 

Dear Mistress, this 
Is only shadow of a httle cloud 
From humors of thy spirits overtaxed 
With happiness. 

aglXe 

Am I not rich? 

LAVINIA 

In Rome none richer. 

aglXe 

Am I not loved? 

LAVINIA 

By all, dear lady, slave and freeman, high 
And low. Kind is thy heart and lavish too. 

AGLAE 

Withal so sad! For this I weep the more. 
The largesses of fortune mock a heart 
That misery holds in fee. 'Tis now a month 
Since this strange jailer of my soul has stood 
Cold sentinel upon my joy. Ah me! 
Whence comes this gruesome witchery to filch 
My happiness? 

153 



COLLECTED POEMS 



LAV INI A 

Yes, Mistress, well I know; 
For thou wert wont to brim with gayety. 

AGLAE 

And I who never wept before now feed 

On constant tears. It came not all at once 

But rather stole upon me unawares, 

Stealthily creeping like the salty sea 

With bitter flood upon the sunny shore 

Till all its pleasantness is overwhelmed. 

And I, who took no count of careless time, 

Save in the winged calendar of joy. 

Now drag the listless days as slaves their chains 

Gyred round their galled ancles. Lavinia! 

LAVINIA 

Mistress! 

AGLAE 

Rememberest thou that strange — 

LAVINIA 

Yes, lady! 
That strange old man found fainting at the door 
By Boniface? 

LAVINIA 

Oh, yes, quite well. 
154 



AGLAE 



AGLAE 

Dost thou recall the man? 

LAVINIA 

Old and gaunt 
Feeble and worn, a beggar — 

AGLAE (mth a gesture of impatience) 

No, not that 
So much, for that was but the outward man; 
But in his eyes despite his ragged woe, 
A deep compelling calm serene as skies 
Whose vaulted blue outspans all taint of cloud. 
His aspect venerable, and his voice 
Weighted with quiet authority, that seemed 
Rooted in wisdom; strange his words; of things 
More strange, that barbed my very heart, and 

waked 
Therein a fear I never felt before! 

LAVINIA 

Nay, I heeded not his words, dear Mistress, 
Nor imderstood! 

AGLAE (rising and much agitated) 

Within his eyes there shone 
A sovereignty that awed the quickened soul, 
155 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Yet merciful. He seemed to read my heart 
As one who summons to a secret court 
A culprit to be judged and yet to be 
Forgiven. Me, a Roman matron too, 
The mistress of a thousand slaves, whose word 
Is weight of Hfe and death upon her own, 
This ragged beggar summoned and adjudged 
As I were meanest of them all! 

LAVINIA 

Why, 
Most humble was his mien and mild his speech ! 
I heard no word against thy nobleness; 
Thy dignity endured no smallest hurt. 

AGLAE 

Not in the outward marks that only take 
The eye, the manner and the form of courtesy, 
Was my nobility thus made ashamed; 
But there, where is the proper of our pride, 
Within the secret chambers of the soul. 
Was I brought to my knees, a guilty thing 
Not all condemned but somehow hoping still 
For pardon! 

LAVINIA 

Strange were that, indeed. Mistress! 
How could a Roman matron's great nobility 
Be criminal, and who her judge but Caesar? 
156 



aglAE 



aglXe 

Thou art a simple child, Lavinia. Alas! 
So too thought I until — (iveeping violently) 
LAVINIA {throwing herself at Aglde's feet) 

Weep not, sweet Mistress! 
It ill becomes the summer of thine eyes 
To see them clouded so. 

AGLAE 

Ay me! mine eyes 
Are wells of grief for the sad heart's salt springs. 
Yet in this weeping is a bitter ease 
That softens, though it lessen not this woe. 
(Enter Boniface) 

BONIFACE (pausing at threshold) 

(Aside) Aglde weeping! What portent in her 

tears? 
(To Aglde) Lady, I wait upon thy word. 

aglXe (starting) 

'Tis thou, 
Boniface! I would speak with thee. Go, 
Lavinia, child, and wait my further bidding. 

(Exit Lavinia) 
157 



COLLECTED POEMS 

BONIFACE {approaching with anxious air) 

Thou weep'st Aglae! My spirits take the chill 

Of thy dear sorrow as the mirror dims 

With sudden breath. Why droop thy spirits 

so? 
Tell me, AgUe, the secret of this grief, 
That I may share its dolorous tenderness, 
Or else with careful hand may hft the flower 
From off the thorn that wounds it so? 

AGLAE 

Ah, me! 
How may I tell! I feel, but scarcely know. 

BONIFACE 

Thy words were wont to be a very song; 
Nor all the feathered music of the groves 
Gave out more gladness to the ear. 

AGLAE 

And now 

Some nameless shadow creeps upon my soul 
And silences its song. Alas, alas! 
I've shpped the wonted moorings of my joy 
And drift, a helmless and a lonely barque 
Into the widening waste of landless seas! 
158 



aglae 



BONIFACE 

Tis but a passing shadow; some effect 
Of weariness, that weighs thy spirits down. 

aglIe 
In vain I seek to cast the burden off. 
Pleasure is mockery, and shows of joy 
Are only gilded robes, all lead to one 
Whose heart keeps fast with hidden misery. 

BONIFACE 

Whence came this humor first? 
aglXe 

Tis hard to tell; 
It came as winter comes in autumn's breath, 
Gently at first, preluding deeper wrong 
To summer's lustihood. And as the flower 
First droops with keener nights, though all the 

days 
Be warm and tender still, upon me fell 
The frosts that nipped the spirit's brighter bloom, 
And plucked the petals from the stricken stalk. 

BONIFACE 

But is no record of the hour, no touch 
In memory of time before and after 
To mark the sunshine from the night that glooms 
159 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Thy skies and shrouds the image of the stars? 
For though the day die slowly into dark, 
Nor fixed the instant in the thickening light 
When we may say 'tis now the night, now day 
Is spent, yet well we know the rounded hour 
Of perfect light from utter gloom. 

aglXe 

Perchance 
That day — Dost thou remember, Boniface, 
The stranger succored by thee at the gate 
And given shelter? He was old and worn, 
A Christian speaking a strange doctrine. 

BONIFACE 

Yes, 

His name was Cyprian. 

AGLAE 

Then first in all my days 
Was I rebuked and made ashamed! 

BONIFACE 

By Cyprian? 

AGLAE 

By him! 

BONIFACE 

Dared he upbraid thee! 
160 



AGLAE 



AGLAE 

Not in words — 
Nay, listen — thou shalt hear. Within his eye 
There dwelt so clear a light, so deep a calm. 
That I was drawn as one who gazes down 
Into the ocean's depths, and sinks and sinks 
Helpless from deep to deep. Then suddenly 
The lambent shame rushed flaming to my brow 
In presence of his soul, that held mine own 
In that abyss where thought is tongueless speech, 
Whiles all my guilt stood naked and ashamed 
Before his questing eyes, that pitied me ! 
He read my heart, Boniface, and saw 
The guilty image of our love; and yet 
He spake no word, but well I knew he knew! 

BONIFACE 

'Twas but the flaring fancy's painted fear, 
A little grain of conscience sputtering up 
In love's bright fire to burn itself away 
In that resplendent flame like sudden chaff. 
Why conjure phantoms in the broad bright day 
And sadden with pale ghosts the laughing hours. 
That wheel around the golden sun and strew 
His path with flowers? We live and love; what 
more 

161 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Is given in this narrow house of time 

To mortals? Let us take and spare not — Hold 

The largess of the gods. All else is folly. 

AGLAE 

Thy words were once bright fountains to my joy 

And bore my spirits Ughtly up. But now, 

Alas! they only feed my tears. 'Tis not 

I love thee less, O Boniface, but I 

Would love thee better. Love that knows its 

shame 
Is broken music on a guilty ear. 
This knew I not before, but now I know. 

BONIFACE 

What is this riddle? 

AGLAE 

None; but simple truth. 

Boniface, I am ashamed ! 

BONIFACE 

Aglde! 

AGLAE 

1 am all misery. I weep and weep. 
And wonder at the ocean of my tears! 

Some ghastly phantom shakes my frightened 

heart, 
A shadowy presence rather felt than seen, 
162 



AGLAE 



Faint syllablings like voices in far dreams, 
Accusing whisperings that say no word, 
Yet somehow speak a dreadful thing! 

BONIFACE (aside) 
Her humor blows a cold and heavy wind, 
That quite congeals my nimbler spirits. How 
Distract her mood? 

AGLAE 

Knowest thou of Cyprian aught? 

BONIFACE 

How may I know? A beggar at the gate 
He came unknown and hke a beggar gone. 
But shake thou off this heaviness; unfold 
The crumpled petals of thy happiness 
To brighter suns, and let them drink the mists 
Of melancholy wept by tearful night. 
Aglae, come; we'll fill the hours with love 
Again, and in the crystal floods of joy 
Drown this grim melancholy. 

AGLAE 

No; 'tis not 
The same. My love is heavy with strange fears 
And cannot rise upon so fragile wings. 
Perchance, if I might speak with him again, 
That strange old man — 
163 



COLLECTED POEMS 

BONIFACE 

A ragged beggar! 

aglAe 
I know, and yet he seemed so wonderful! 
He was as though some greater god had breathed 
Upon his soul a more than mortal peace! 
What are these Christians, Boniface? Knowest 
aught about them? 

BONIFACE 

Tis said they worship a dead god, 
A Jewish malefactor crucified 
By his own people long ago. Their rites, 
I hear, are horrible. They sacrifice 
A living babe, whose flesh their priests consume 
Before the assembled worshippers! 

AGLAE 

Most horrible indeed, and yet so strange! 

BONIFACE 

A dangerous, bloody and malefic sect, 
They secretly conspire against the life 
Of Caesar; and when siezed and brought before 
The Praetor, stubbornly refuse to burn 
Incense to Caesar's statue! 
164 



AGLAE 



AGLAE 

Yet Cyprian seemed 
Not so. Gracious and mild his mien. He spoke 
Of peace and love to all. He said that thou, 
Whose kindness succored him in need, would gain 
Some precious great reward; for Christ, he said, 
Loved the compassionate. I know not what 
He meant, but in his words, there seemed to lurk 
Some curious hidden sense, like a dim light 
That makes the darkness deeper. 

BONIFACE 

Thou art bewitched, 
Aglde ! This strange old man has cast some spell 
Upon thee, some strange charm brought from the 

East; 
For I have heard these Christians practise magic. 
Their Christ, they claim, could even raise the dead, 
And left the secret of his power to them 
That follow him. 

AGLAE 

Perchance 'tis true, and yet 
I cannot think of Cyprian working ill 
To me or other. Love so clearly spake 
From eye and mien, and rang in every word, 
165 



COLLECTED POEMS 

That malice surely could not mingle bane 
With such fair honesty! 

BONIFACE 

Rather, Aglae, 
The subtlest poison in the rarest flowers 
And in the precious wine the deadhest bane. 

AGLAE 

I know not, Boniface; but this I know, 
I am not what I was. I love thee still, 
Yet other than I did. And all my soul 
Is a fierce fire whose flame leaps ever up 
Dying into the empty air and finds 
No food for its aspiring tongue. What once 
Was precious to my heart is ashes now 
In that consuming heat; and I, who loved 
The guttering raiment of the passing hour, 
The hssome wantoness of clinging robes, 
The fight of jewels on neck and hand and arm, 
The careless hour of feast and mirth, the wine 
That flamed the cheek to roses and the eye 
To love's own splendors, I, who loved the pomp 
Of place, the pride of power, the luxury 
Of wealth, till time seemed all elysian joy 
That knew no end, find now the end of all. 
The withered chaplet of a faded feast. 
The years fie blanched within my trembfing hands. 
166 



aglAe 



Save only love of thee, O Boniface, 
My life bears now nor leaf nor bloom. 

BONIFACE 

Some spell 
Aglae, has enmeshed thy spirits quite; 
Some foul, unwholesome incantation throws 
Its fetid humors thwart thy fancy's eye. 
'Tis most unnatural that youth and wealth, 
Beauty and power, the very roots of love 
And happiness, should wither in the sudden 
And spread their branches barren to the sun. 
And if some spell has bound thy spirits up 
In such congeahng frost, may we not find 
Some counter charm to melt the opposing bonds? 
I'll seek these Christians out, and find a magic 
To loosen all the winter of thy woe. 
And make thee smile again. 

AGLAE 

A little warmth 
Stirs in the ashes at the thought ! Hasten — 
But whither? How? 

BONIFACE 

Most easily, I think. 
The Christians here in Rome, so runs the rumor, 
Made bold by Caesar's rash indulgence brave 
The open day. I'll seek them out and learn 
167 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Some way to wrest the secret of their skill. 
I know one, Mineius, who, 'tis said, abjured 
The superstition once before the Praetor. 
Gold is his passion and will buy his tongue. 
If fear or other thing should hold his speech. 

AGLAE 

May the gods assist! Perchance there's hope in 

this! 
Yet am I all divided in my mind. 
And in the feeble heart of my faint hope 
Doubt sinks a bitter shaft. 

BONIFACE 

Then pluck it out! 
And give thy fledgling chance to spread his wings ! 
I'll go and speed with Mercury's nimble feet 
Upon thy quest! Nay, smile again, Aglae; see 
The sunlight on yon fountain's silvery shaft! 
A happy augury ! Its splendor breaks 
And dances in a thousand flying Hghts 
About us! On thy hair and face it plays. 
Wooing thy beauty with amorous dalUance. 

Smile, 
Aglde — now thou art thyself again! 
Olympus would be brighter for thy smile — 
I go to find thy happiness again! 

(Exit Boniface) 
168 



SCENE II 

Three months* interim between first and second 
scene. Atrium of Aglde's house in Rome. Present: 
Aglde and Lavinia. 

AGLAE (holding a rose in her hand) 
The third month gone to-day, and yet no word! 
Were months but petals, I'd crush them as this 

rose! 
How time does rack our patience on his wheel! 
What can delay his coming back? 

LAVINIA 

'Twas far 
To go, dear Mistress; over seas and mountains, 
A rough way; Lucoe told me so. 
For from Cilicia came she as a child. 

AGLAE 

She said 'twas very far? 

LAVINIA 

Truly, and hard. 
A long and tiresome journey over sea. 
And then great mountains bar the toilsome way. 
169 



COLLECTED POEMS 

'Twas many weary weeks, she said, 'twixt Rome 
And Tarsus. 

aglXe 
^Tis very hard to wait. 
Each moment is a weary while, each hour 
A lengthened anguish, and each day so brimmed 
To overflowing with the creeping flood 
Of endless hours to make the stagnant round, 
'Twould seem that time had ceased to flow. 

LAVINIA 

Think 
Upon the journey's length, and measure time 
By that. Mountain and river, sea and plain, 
Make slow toil e'en for hastening feet. And then 
The thousand various haps to make delay 
In a long journey; on the sea the wind 
May fall and hold the eager ship becalmed, 
Or blustering storm may beat it baffled back, 
Or angry torrents drown the wonted ford, 
Or snow upon the mountain passes — 

AGLAE 

Yes, 
Too many far the petty hindrances 
To pile delay a mountain high. To think 
On these but sharpens appetite for haste. 
And daily whets the edge of grief anew. 
170 



AGLAE 



This weighing all the hazards only adds 
Fresh burdens to the staggering load I bear. 
I conjure fears of all the thousand perils 
That throng the hostile way and frighten hope. 
The snows of patience cannot cool a heart 
Afire; the ardor of my longing melts 
Them all! 

LAVINIA 

But this impatience wears thee out. 
Thou'rt grown so white and thin, a Hly now 
Would blush beside thy cheek, and zephyrs sway 
Thee lightly as a blade of faded grass. 

AGLAE 

A shadow of myself, I know. How soon 
The body melts before the soul's desire ! 
How lightly are we made ! The elements 
That fashion our unstable frames are soft 
And feeble, solving 'neath the touch of time 
The ruder hand of grief or fortune's strokes 
Like irised vapours in a biting wind. 
I care not now as once I cared. 

LAVINIA 

Alas! 

AGLAE 

Nay, sigh not so, Lavinia. My woe 
Has taught me this — one precious pearl of gain 
171 



COLLECTED POEMS 

From out the darkened waters of my grief — that 

joy 
Is not the body's gift, nor time may hold 
The fee of happiness. 

LAVINIA 

But that is hard 
To understand; where then may be our joy? 

aglXe 

O who may answer that? That precious wine 

Once held for me within the shallow shard 

Of time, is now all spilled. This much I know, 

And for the rest I only hope, blindly 

Tis true, but firmly; why, I cannot tell. 

But something whispers me from out my 

darkness. 
That Boniface will bring back peace and love 
And happiness. 

LAVINIA 

May fortune prosper him, 
And speed him quickly home! Yet thinkest 

thou 
A relic from a Christian's body slain 
By Caesar's law will work so fair a spell? 
'Twould seem to me that ill would come of ill. 
These Christians are an evil people. 

172 



AGLAE 



AGLAE 

Ah, yes, I know! 
Yet Cyprian was a Christian, and he seemed 
So gentle, kind. And Boniface declared — 
For so did Mincius tell him, — that a cloth 
Steeped in the blood of one who died for Christ — 
For thus they speak — has power to cure the 

sick, 
The lame, the blind and e^en to raise the dead 
To hf e again : I know not how, but Mincius said 
That he had seen such marvels wrought ! 

LAVINIA 

'Tis strange 
To think on! Theirs must be a potent magic. 

AGLAE 

Though here in Rome the Christians go in peace, 
'Tis known that Caesar's edict in the East 
Pursues the obstinate, and many yield 
Their hves for Christ their God. 

LAVINIA 

What fools! To think 
That men would rather yield themselves to Hades 
Than burn a pinch of incense to Caesar's statue! 
173 



COLLECTED POEMS 

AGLAE 

Yet gladly do they die, 'tis said, and meet 
The dreadful agony with smiles. Who knows 
The secret meaning of their sacrifice? 
Who welcome death so happily, as 'twere 
A gift, must see beyond its bloody pale. 

LAVINIA 

But 'tis unnatural to welcome death, 
Save as relief from hopeless misery; 
And when to live is still a joy, then death 
Is horrible! 

AGLAE 

I know not what to think, 
And yet I seem to half divine a meaning. 

(Singing in the distance. Listening they hear it, 
but without being able to distinguish the words,) 

SONG 
The martyr's crown is his; with Christ 

Triumphant now he reigns: 
Death he trampled under foot 
And all its pains. 

aglXe 
He would not yield so willingly to death 
Who had no secret stay within his soul 
Against the pangs of nature's dissolution. 
174 



AGLAE 



SONG {approaching) 

Death but the happy gate to life 

From out this vale of tears 
To him who, Ungering, longs for Christ's 

Eternal years. 

AGLAE 

What is this singing in the street, Lavinia? 

LAVINIA 

ril go and see {Exit Lavinia) 

aglXe 

^'In Christ's eternal years!" 
How strange the words! How solemn, yet how 

glad 
The burden of the music. What may it be? 

SONG {just outside the house) 

Nor craunching rack nor flaming brand 

His steadfast will can break; 
Sweet is the body's sacrifice 

For Christ's dear sake. 

AGLAE 

'' For Christ's dear sake ! " These are the words of 
Christians ! 

175 



COLLECTED POEMS 



SONG 

The golden palm within his hand, 

The sign of victory won, 
He sits enthroned among the saints. 

Clothed with the sun. 

AGLAE 

Who sings so strangely in the streets of Rome? 

{Enter Lavinia.) 

LAVINIA 

Dear lady, there wait without a band of men 
All garbed in white, bearing a body shrouded 
In white upon a bier, and with them Cyprian. 
'Tis they who sing. 

AGLAE 

Cyprian! 

LAVINIA 

The very same. 
He bade me tell you he would speak with you. 

AGLAE 

Yes, yes, at once! Go, bid him come! 

{Exit Lavinia) 
Cyprian! 
How faint I grow! O who will stay me now! 
This I have longed for all these weary months. 
And now I fear and tremble! 
176 



AGLAE 



SONG 

sweet the agony and trial 

Sustained by love so great, 
Beyond the power of man's weak will 

And low estate. 

aglXe 
What subtle meaning in these curious words? 

SONG 

For Christ upon his own pours down 

His all enduring grace, 
And they that stand his witnesses 

Look on His Face! 

sweet beyond all sweets to die 
When summoned at His call 

Sweeter than life to die for him 
Who died for all. 

AGLAE 

''Who died for all!" How strangely do I hear! 

(Enter Cyprian.) 
What mean these solemn words'' Who died for all? " 

CYPRIAN 

Christ Jesus, Lord and God. 
177 



COLLECTED POEMS 



aglXe 

Cyprian! 

CYPRIAN 

Daughter. 
aglXe 
Thy words are very strange. Thou calFst me 
daughter! 

CYPRIAN 

In Christ our Lord and God, who died for all. 
His priest I bear His word of life to them 
That hear me. Peace to thee, Daughter. 

AGLAE 

Strangely and yet not strangely do I hear. 
'Tis Hke the piercing of a broken dream! 
Some shadowy prescience taking outward shape, 
Yet vague. Speak, Cyprian, speak. 

CYPRIAN 

Daughter, I come 
From Tarsus. 

aglXe 
Why, 'tis thither Boniface 
Journeyed! Hast news of him? 
178 



AGLAE 



CYPRIAN 

Yes, Daughter, truly. 

AGLAE 

I perish for it! Speak and succor me! 

CYPRIAN 

But first this golden prelude to the tale: 

'Twill pave the way to happier things. Listen! 

aglAe 
With all my soul. But is he well? 

CYPRIAN 

Aye, Daughter, very well. 

AGLAE 

Fm glad, so glad! 

CYPRIAN 

He sends thee greeting, and he bade me say 
The charm he sought is found. 

AGLAE 

E'en now I feel 
Its power. I'm glad, so very glad! 

CYPRIAN 

A charm 
Beyond all charms to heal our deadUest ills. 
179 



COLLECTED POEMS 

But hear my tale, whose swift unfolding hke 

The flaming of the dawn upon the banks 

Of night, will make thy darkness Hght. 

When Boniface's pity succored me some months 

Agone, and thy compassion joined 

Made gracious heahng of my weakened frame, 

I prayed to Christ our Lord and God who died for 

all. 
To succor thee and him who succored me. 
His servant — Nay, I know, my Daughter, all — 
For Boniface confided all and bade 
Me speak with thee. And passing hence I went 
Into Cilicia, where the flock of Christ 
Is harried by the wolves, to comfort them 
Whom Caesar seeks to break unto his will 
And force from their allegiance to their Lord. 

AGLAE 

And there thou saw'st Boniface? Why comes 
He not himself? What holds him? 

CYPRIAN 

Thou shalt hear. 
In secret I administered to them 
Who for their faith in Christ were seized by 

Caesar; 
For I was sent for this, and was not free 
180 



AGLAE 



To court the blessedness of martyrdom, 

But serve the others in their need. Each day 

I stood unknown, save unto them, beside 

The bloody strand and saw them die for Christ 

Passing unto His glory crowned saints! 

One day when all the arena smoked with blood, 

And many were the witnesses to Christ, 

A glorious holocaust, I saw beside 

The Praetor's throne, a man who watched the 

scene 
With eager eye. He paled and flushed and 

trembled 
When scourge bit bloodily or limb was wrenched 
Upon the creaking rack or greedy fire 
Devoured the tender flesh. But most of all 
Upon his countenance sat wonder throned 
To see the smiling fortitude of those 
That thus so valiantly attested Christ; 
For these, as feasters ever welcoming 
The daintier bits to whet their appetites 
For more, with constant joy embraced the pain 
That ever brought them nearer unto Christ 
In suffering. 

AGLAE 

So have I heard they die 
Whose god is Christ. But what of Boniface? 
Why comes he not as thou hast come? 
181 



COLLECTED POEMS 



CYPRIAN 

Be not 
Impatient, Daughter; thou shalt know; for so 
He bade me speak as preface to his coming. 
That day a maiden stood before the Praetor, 
A tender child, a virgin in her bud, 
Slender and frail, lustrous with innocence. 
That she served Christ her only crime, but that 
Enough. Her angered judge, that one so young 
And simple yielded nothing to his frown 
And braved the utmost vengeance of his threats, 
Ordered her stripped before the vulgar throng, 
That shame of its bold gaze might strike its 

terror 
Unto her virgin heart and bend her to his will. 
Forthwith the rude, impetuous, ribald hands 
Of jesting soldiers rent her garments from her. 
And as they stripped her of her raiment, lo! 
As ^twere by unseen hands unloosed 
Her coiled abundant locks shd down about her 
Pouring their sheltering lustre to her feet; 
Nor any eye in all that gaping crowd 
Raped e'en a glimpse of her fair innocence. 

AGLAE 

Did not that melt the astonished Praetor's heart? 

182 



AGLAE 



CYPRIAN 

Nay, flint struck harder, flashes angrier. 
Enraged at thwarting of his vile intent, 
He ordered them to brand her slender breasts 
With irons thrice heated in the bellowsed flame, 
But when the glowing metal white-hot touched 
The whiter coolness of her virgin flesh 
It paled to greyness, nor so much as seared 
The tender skin. Whereat the Praetor wroth 
To flercer madness, and now a panting beast 
With jaws outstretched, balked of his prey. 
Shrieked out to place her on the dreadful wheel 
And tear her limb from limb. And so they seized 
And stretched her fragile frame, hand bound ad- 
verse 
To hand and foot to foot, her innocence 
Still clothed in the bright wonder of her locks, 
Upon the ponderous machine; but at 
The lever's turn it cracked like brittle glass. 
And she unbruised, unscathed, rose up and cried, 
''Seek not my Hfe save by the sword, for so 
My Lord and Spouse, who is in Heaven, ordains." 
And kneeling bent and bowed her slender neck; 
Whereat a soldier lifted up his sword 
And smote, and so she yielded up her soul 
And passed a glorious witness to her Lord! 
183 



COLLECTED POEMS 

AGLAE 

tender child! O sweetest innocence! 

CYPRIAN 

At this the stranger by the Praetor's throne 
Leaped forward, lifting up his hands to Heaven, 
And cried, "O Christ accept me! I believe! 

1 am a Christian; Christ alone is God!" 
Then scourge and fire they pitilessly plied 
To shake his constancy that stood unshaken 
Against the fearful torture, till the day 
Sank wearied into night more merciful. 

And that same night through one a Christian 

guard. 
Admitted to the prison secretly 
I ministered the holy rites to him. 
The second day therefrom, they brought him forth 
Again before the Praetor, but he stood 
Rooted in fortitude against the storms 
Of their balked wrath. The fire that ate his flesh 
He smiled at; pain he welcomed joyously; 
The rack that seemed to wrench his limbs asunder 
He eagerly embraced, though thrice he swooned, 
When broken nature's powers ebbed out exhausted ; 
Yet smiled and welcomed that great agony 
Again, as fife flowed back to consciousness; 
184 



AGLAE 



Till baffled by this Christian constancy, 

The Praetor wearied out, commanded them 

To slay him with the sword. Then with great joy. 

That made a glory all about his face. 

He bowed his head and yielded up his soul. 

And passed, a glorious witness to his Lord. 

The holy body of this saint I bring 

From Tarsus — for so did Boniface request — 

And this the Christian charm to heal thine ill. 

{To those outside.) 

Bring in the sacred burden. Its touch shall make 

Thee whole again. 

SONG 

O sweet beyond all sweets to die 

When summoned at His call, 
Sweeter than Hfe to die for him 
Who died for all. 
{Christians enter hearing martyr^s body; place 
hier down and retire to the rear.) 

CYPRIAN 

Come, Daughter, lift the cloth that yet conceals 
The holy face of one who died for Christ, 
And gazing on this blessed countenance 
Thou shalt be healed forever! 

{Aglde approaches and places her hand upon the 
bier.) 

185 



COLLECTED POEMS 



AGLAE 

Some strange unknown virtue steals upon my 
senses! 

Christian priest, beseech thy God for me ! 

1 fear and yet rejoice! My soul is shaken! 
I fear! I tremble! 

CYPRIAN 

Fear not, Daughter, but lift 
The cloth with reverence. 

AGLAE 

{Lifting the cloth) Boniface ! 

CYPRIAN 

Tis thus he greets thee Aglae in the love of 
Christ! 

AGLAE 

{Falling on her knees.) 

O Christ, accept me! I believe! 



186 



THE FEAST OF THALARCHUS 



PERSONiE 

Thalarchus, citizen of Antioch, 

Simeon, the Stylite. 

Thais, an hetcera. 

Xenares, slave of Thalarchus. 

Antiphon, 

Critias, 

Charmides, 

Glauco, 

Hermogenes, . 



guests at the Feast, 



Demons, Fauns, Dryads, Naiads, Silenus, Pan, 
Bacchus and Bacchanals. 

Place, Antioch. Time, first half of fifth century. 



THE FEAST OF THALARCHUS 

Enter Thalarchus and Xenares. 

THALARCHUS 

Is all prepared, Xenares? 

XENARES 

Ay, my lord. 

THALARCHUS 

The guests all summoned? 

XENARES 

As thou didst bid, 'tis done. 

THALARCHUS 

And Thais, too? 

XENARES 

My lord, she waits thee now. 

THALARCHUS 

Now Antioch shall boast a feast to make 
The gorgeous riot of Nero's groaning board 
A peasant's fare in meanness. Ay, the gods 
Themselves, if ancient legends speak the truth, 
189 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Shall look with jealous eye from their high seats 
Upon its splendid prodigality. 
For I have summoned earth and sea and air 
To yield me of their choicest; wines than gold 
More precious, tanged with a hundred fiery suns 
To make the blood run wanton in the veins; 
The rarest fish that winnow in the deep 
To edge with novel savour palates staled 
With years of feasting; daintiest meats unknown 
In this our Antioch before, to spur 
The jaded appetites of ancient revellers; 
Succulent dishes dressed by so rare art 
That sated gluttons shall hunger at the sight; 
Such subtle witcheries for eye and ear 
That they shall swoon with giddy surfeit; 
Beauty so prodigal of all her charms 
That Venus would stale upon the general eye; 
Music to ravish the amazed sense 
With sweeter melodies than Orpheus blew 
In Pluto's ear to charm his wife from hell; 
Ay, such a feast as eats a fortune up 
At one swift mouthful, as death mortaUty! 
Tis 'gainst stale Fortune's self I throw the die 
And scorn her, having basked within her smile 
To dull satiety; and, scorning, court 
The oft-reputed thunders of her frown 
In sheer despite of her long blandishments. 
190 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Let go what will, let come what may, I fling 

Defiance in her face! Let houses, lands 

And slaves and ships, the substance of my all, 

Be swallowed in this prodigaHty, 

As thunderous earthquake and the roaring wave 

Engulf a prideful city by the sea, 

That leaves no stone to mark its ancient place. 

XENARES 

My lord, the hour approaches for the feast. 
Wilt robe? 

THALARCHUS 

Yea, put on the festal garb, 
The one I purchased from the Damascene, 
The rarest tissue of the patient loom. 
Spun from the purest wool in all the East, 
White as the imearthed snow and delicate 
As petals of the rose! How soft and Ught! 
Meet for the Hmbs of the Olympian gods 
When they recline at their ambrosial feasts! 
How elegant in its simplicity! 
Unblemished by the taint of broidery, 
Yet richer by the pureness of its woof 
Than were it gilded inches deep in gold 
And seamed with all the pearls of gorgeous Ind. 
Xenares, bring the Memphian jewel, too, — 
'Twill fit with this most rich simplicity, — 
191 



COLLECTED POEMS 

A single stone white with Promethean flame 
Gathered within the bosom of the earth 
When first 'twas stolen from heaven, and angry- 
Jove 
Ravened the firmament with sulphurous bolts 
Against the callous thief. Hear how I talk, 
Xenares, babbling a fable of the gods, 
The gruesome memory of an ancient lie 
Spun in the nurseries of the world, when men 
As yet were children. So my humour trips — 
The gem! Hand it me. Zeus, how it burns! 
White as the sun's white core, yet cold as death! 
It was — the Jew I bought it of so said, 
The lying trafficker — a sacred stone. 
That once on mother Isis' holy breast 
Burned 'neath the veil, when men yet worshipt 
And bowed with bated breath before her shrine. 
A pretty fable this of mother earth ; 
The gem within her bosom 'neath the veil 
The easy symbol of the unquarried stone 
Within the darkness of the uncaverned soil. 
Ere men, awakened to the lust of things, 
Had bared her treasures to the eyes of greed. 
Fables, fables, to hide the shamefaced truth 
And gloze the ugliness of our own deeds. 
Lest we grow frightened at our naked selves! 
How prone to invent and hold ourselves excused, 
192 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

And out of all our baser part erect 

Divinities! I've had my day of faith, 

And hold but wraiths of wasted dreams. I've run 

The gamut up and down and down again, 

To find but jangling discords at the close. 

Wealth has been mine, and its sure offshoot, power, 

To make men pliant to my sovereign will 

And servants of my every nod. A man, 

I've sated every appetite; a god, 

I've bent my little world to every whim; 

Yet bankrupt of all joy I end at last. 

Life staled and shattered Uke a rotted gourd. 

Out on it all! I'll woo me beggary now. 

And from her withered womb beget the babe. 

Content, to suckle at her barren breasts 

And fatten on their emptiness. 

'Tis said that Httle want is slender care, 

And lentils feast a witless appetite. 

XENARES 

My lord, the guests are all arrived and wait 
Upon thy coming. 

THALARCHUS 

Well, I come. Place thou 
The chaplet on my brow, that I go crowned, 
The sovereign of a feast beyond all dreams. 
Ye blushes of our common clay, how wonderful! 
193 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Ye queenly flowers, the garden's royal flame, 
That burn like us a single hour and fade 
To lightest ashes blown by death about 
The careless earth, — how sweet and beautiful! 
Ah me, how pitiful the thing called Hfe, 
This tide of freshness quenched in salty death, 
Whose famine ever grows the more it feeds, 
As the waste sea upon the pleasant streams! 
Since to that bitter end do all things flow, 
Though ne'er so strong and beautiful. But come, 
Let's to the feast, and in full cups deeper 
Than memory drown this bleak philosophy. 

{Exeunt Thalarchus and Xenares.) 
Hall of feast, guests reclining, music and song as 
Thalarchus enters. 

To the feast, to the feast we come; 
For life is now in its bloom; 

Full flows the tide 

As onward we glide, 

Forgetful of doom. 

Like petals that fall from their flowers, 
Time scatters his rose-laden hours. 

Ah, only too brief 

Is the blush of the leaf 

In morning's white bowers! 
194 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Then gather the sweets of the day; 
To-morrow they'll have faded away; 

Seize the swift bloom, 

Ere the blight of the tomb, 

And live while we may. 

Dread are the Fates to the fearful, 
Heavy is grief to the tearful; 

But sorrow and death 

And the grave's fell breath 

Are mocked by the cheerful. 

Ripe is the grape on the vine. 
Ruddy the blush of the wine; 

The ivy-crowned god 

Shall rule with his nod 

The revels divine. 

Let care at the portal await. 
An exile outside of the gate: 

Bacchus alone 

Shall sit on the throne. 

With Venus as mate. 

What heed for time and its flowing, 
What care for hfe and its going! 
195 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Unreef the white sail 
To catch the full gale 
Of love's winds a-blowing! 

The goblet upfill to the brim, 
With joy aglow to the rim: 

To Venus our love 

With a snow-white dove, 

To Bacchus a hymn. 

As gods on their thrones elate, 
We reck not the threads of fate; 

Time is our slave. 

And death and the grave 

But shadows that wait. 

Snatch then the moment that goes 
Blown full with life's crimson rose; 

To-morrow's dim morn 

Will find but the thorn 

And thee — who knows? 

CRITIAS 

Methinks there is a discord in the song: 
'Tis scarcely meet to dwell on death when life 
Is at its full. And, when we feast, 'tis well 
To think on nothing but the feasting. 
196 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



CHARMIDES 



True, 



Friend Critias. 'Tis an unsavoury sauce 
Wherewith to season mirth; I hke it not. 
To be reminded death is at the door 
Cripples an eager appetite. 

ANTIPHON 

Not so; 
Ye be but poor philosophers. 'Tis this 
That gives the zest to life, to know it ends. 
The moiety of pleasure is pursuit. 
The other half the cHmax of its taste 
Subsiding in delicious ecstasy 
Of pain. The sweet expectancy that fed 
Your hope before this feast is half of it; 
The other half in consummation now, 
To end in swift satiety. But were 
The Fates to fix your feasting here forever, 
The wine that tingles at your lips were poison, 
The viands that sweetly savour to the palate 
Would grow polluted as a Harpies' feast. 
And ye wane thinner than Tartarian shades 
Consumed by the eternal misery 
Of sheer monotony. No, friends, be wise; 
Treasure the hour because it speeds; hold fast 
The blossom because it fades; for therein lies 
197 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The essence of our joy, whose little power 

Grasps but the moment of vicissitude, 

And in the last and greatest change, 

That we call death, sums all of life, and makes 

It bearable. 

CRITIAS 

By Bacchus, Antiphon, 
Thou reasonest well; I'll drink the deeper for't. 

CHARMIDES 

No, no, he argues ill : better to feast 
Forever here, recking nor change nor death. 
Nor that vast emptiness where Hades yawns 
For unsubstantial shades, than sour the wine 
By thinking on the lees that lie at bottom. 
Think you the rose is sweeter because it fades? 
Nay, rather were its sweetness sweeter still 
If it but bloomed in immortahty; 
Think you that beauty's beautiful because 
It wrinkles into ugliness with age? 
Is Thais' alabaster throat whiter 
Than enskyed snow because the tawny years 
Will yellow it? Her hps aflame with love 
Because the envious hours will pluck their blos- 
soms 
And leave them pale and withered? Nay, Anti- 
phon, 

198 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Beauty's her own essential loveliness, 

And our delight because she is herself, 

Nor borrows aught from time's revengeful waste. 

Give me the ripened rose because it blooms, 

The hour because 'tis filled with present sweets, 

And Thais' lips redder than any rose. 

Sweeter and dearer than Olympian bliss, 

Because their luscious pastures are abloom 

With living loves ripe now for gathering, 

And all sufiicient in themselves to make 

This single hour eternal. Ay, I'd cram 

All future into one capacious now, 

And this full instant, blown radiant as the sun 

With joy, fashion to immortality! 

CRITIAS 

Well said, Charmides: come, we'll drink to it! 
Thy argument would set all Antioch dry! 
Ay, were the circumambient seas all wine. 
We'd drain them clean, and make old Neptune 

ride 
On land. Come, Ganymede, fill up again! 

ANTIPHON 

Thou'rt over-young: thy tongue outruns thy wit. 

CRITIAS 

Thou'rt over-old: thy wit has lost its sap. 
199 



COLLECTED POEMS 

ANTIPHON 

And thine still in the green. Be wise and learn 
Of age, which yoked with long experience 
Has travelled life's close orbit o'er and o'er: 
First, childhood's giddy cycle swings its course, 
When all existence is the moment's toy. 
And, stayed within its sinuous channel, time 
Goes eddying round and round with bubbling 

wave. 
The hours perennial vessels of delight 
Gushing with joy; then youth with passionate 

feet 
Pursuing pleasure to the close, draining 
The chalice dry, and reaping aftermaths 
Of pain in flagging nature's ravished powers; 
Youth spent, mid-age awakening from the 

dream, 
Plucking experience from the thorny vine 
Of sorrow, and temperately husbanding 
Its joys by holding passion in the leash; 
Lastly, old age, cautious as creeping snails 
Feeling the way, on wisdom's slow staff leans, 
With prudence for its guide, and treads the 

path 
Of pleasure moderately, knowing the pain 
Of haste and ruin of excess. 
200 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



CHAKMIDES 

Thy blood 
Is thin, and wrinkled as the cheek of eld 
Is thy philosophy, O Antiphon. 
Thou preachest for thyself, whose narrow stream 
Is running dry in parched and barren sands! 
Go spout thy platitudes at funerals, 
And in the corpse's stony ear discourse 
Upon the vanities of Kfe. Our blood 
Is red with lustihood, our years fuller 
Than Amalthea's horn: we drink, we feast, 
We die not! 

CRITIAS 

Come, sweet Ganymede, fill up 
Again! I'm father Bacchus' own to-night, 
Immortal as the gods! Fill up, I say. 
And drown these musty arguments in wine. 
Here's to thee, ancient Antiphon! Come, drink! 
Warm thine old blood with bacchanahan fires; 
Ruby the ashes of thy beard with wine. 
And dream thou'rt young again. I'll wager now 
Thou'st not been drunk these thirty years ! 

ANTIPHON 

Fie, boy! 
Thou'lt feel the Furies' lash to-morrow morn. 
201 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Thalarchus, I appeal to thee — holds not 
My argument in reason? 

THALARCHUS 

Sweet friends, 
Let's not dispute about the festal board, 
But all here move to music and to joy 
Concordant as the chiming heavens sing 
In loves harmonious. Upon the arch 
Of time enthroned we sit as gods to-night! 
Let not to-morrow stare with stony face 
Upon our festival. Olympians all, 
We'll make the old Olympian fable true; 
Pleasure and beauty by our side, whilst Love, 
Divinest minister, with rosy fingers 
Enweaves his flowery chains to hold us all 
The bonded servants of his amorous nod. 
Thais, O lovelier than Aphrodite's self 
Rising resplendent from the shimmering waves 
Kissing her feet and worshipping, sing thou 
Of love, who art his sovereign mistress now. 
Here, boy, the chaplet and the cithara. 

ANTIPHON 

How Bacchus blossoms wanton from his lips! 



202 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



CRITIAS 

Sweet Hebe, sit thee with me while she sings, 
Thy Hp and mine upon the crater's rim. 
While Venus and the god meet in the cup. 
Hercle! thou art as lovely as Thais there, 
Though Aphrodite envy her! Hebe 
And Ganymede art thou in one, sweeter 
Than Hybla's honey — 

CHARMIDES 

Cease, Thais begins. 

THAIS (singing) 

Swifter than fire 
Is love's desire. 

Sweeter than wine; 
Stronger than hate. 
Closer than fate 

Its tendrils entwine. 

Zeus' grim power 
Stays not its soft hour, 

Its sweet, sharp pain; 
In Danae's tower 
Falls the hot shower 

Of golden rain. 
203 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Love is a rose 

That flame-like blows 

In passion's breast; 
Pluck it and hold it, 
Softly enfold it 

In love's own nest. 

Thy lips are red 

As the poppy's head, 

Thy breath as wine; 
Tender thine eyes 
As midnight skies 

With stars that shine. 

Take me and hold me, 
Softly enfold me, 

My lips to thine, 
As love with desire. 
Passion with fire, 

And vine with vine. 

THALARCHUS 

Thais, thy beauty ravishes the eye, 
Thy song the ear. Captive thou tak'st the heart, 
And lead'st the soul in gilded chains to love! 
Venus were beggared of the golden prize. 
Were Paris here to-night. 
204 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

THAIS 

And lov'st thou me, 
Thalarchus? 

THALARCHUS 

Yea, as Bacchus wine. Mars war, 
As Jove his power, and Venus lovers! 

THAIS 

Ah! 
Thou lovest as I would be loved. Pledge me 
As Antony his Cleopatra, 
Staking imperial Rome; and I will phght 
As Cleopatra pledged her Antony, 
Throwing the priceless pearl within the cup. 
Till its dissolved beauty made the wine 
Precious as Egypt's kingdom. See! • I fling 
This pearl, though not so fair as Cleopatra's, — 
Oh, would 'twere fairer by a kingdom's worth ! — 
Into the ruby flood, and pledge our loves 
In its quintuple wealth; though this be poor 
Indeed beside the largess of our hearts. 
As beggars' mites compared to Croesus' gold. 

ANTIPHON 

The very pearl himself once gave her! 



205 



COLLECTED POEMS 



THALARCHUS 

Fairest, touch but the wine with thy rose lips, 

And it grows nectar fitter for gods than men. 

Richer than all that Cleopatra ruled 

Or Antony e'er flung away. I'll pledge, 

Not in the fragile beauty of a pearl, — 

Whose lustre, like the rainbow, melts away, 

With heaven's cloudy tears, before the sun, — 

But, worthier still, in the eternal fires 

Of this most royal gem, that gleamed and glowed 

Of yore on Mother Isis' fecund breast, 

And now from thine drawing a rosier warmth, 

Shall shed diviner radiance. Thais, to thee. 

Empress of love, fair sovereign of our hearts! 

Wear thou the stone, and in thy beauty 'twill 

shine 
More beautiful. I'll sing to thee of love. 

CHARMIDES 

The stone's a treble fortune! 

ANTIPHON 

Treble that, 
Charmides! Why, 'twould buy half Antioch! 
How she did wheedle him! His juggled wits 
Are Uke the pearl disported in the wine. 
206 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Occasion ripe, she played her venture well, 
And staked a costly hazard on the die, 
To win most preciously. When gain's the game, 
Bacchus is never match for Venus. 

THALARCHUS (singmg) 

What made the gods more fair than love? 
What wrought the gods more rare than love? 

What compare to love? 

Tell me, ye who love! 
Naught in the sea or air, Love, 
In earth or there above, 

O Love, my Love! 

Sweeter than tang of wine, Love, 
Brighter than gems that shine, Love, 

Than gold more fine, O Love, 

Softer than roses. Love; 
The gods one gift divine, Love, 
My love with thine, my Dove, 

O Love, my Love! 

THAIS 

Sweeter than Orpheus fluted in mid-hell. 
Thy song, Thalarchus. See, upon my breast, 
The roseate gleam of mother Isis' stone. 
Thou art a royal lover. 

207 



COLLECTED POEMS 

THALAKCHUS 

Who but a king 
May fitly woo the queen of love? 

CRITIAS 

Hebe, 
I'll drink with thee again; sweet Hebe — 
Why, Venus were a hag beside thee now! 
O Bacchus is a jolly fellow! Come, 
We'll drink to him, a jolly tipsy god! 
Let's sing to him, let's sing, I say! 

ANTIPHON 

Thou'lt snore 
With him under the table, Critias, 
Before thou'lt sing. 

CRITIAS 

Ay, snore with him; let's snore 
With him; a jolly tipsy god, let's snore 
With him, I say! Hebe, I drink to thee! 
A jolly tipsy — 

(Critias falls) 

ANTIPHON 

Under the table, swine, 
At last. The beast in man is most of him. 
Behold, Charmides, thy philosophy, 
208 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Under the table. So folly clasps excess 
About the neck, and both together drown. 
In moderation taste the dangerous cup, 
And therein find delight; for reason, master, 
Holds back the foaming steeds of sense rushing 
Headlong and bhnd along the parlous course, 
Keener and truer for the checking hand 
That guides them straining at the reins. 

CHARMIDES 

Old owl, 
Hoot thy pragmatics to the frosty moon; 
Bathe with cold Dian in her icy streams. 
And nourish thy thin blood on chiccory. 
But we live in the lusty sxm, our hearts 
Aglow with all the blessing of the god; 
'Tis mother Ceres stores them in the grape. 
And father Bacchus brews them in the wine. 
Here's rich Falernian ripe wdth Italy's tang, 
Encasked these many years in the cool earth. 
Mellow with her soft days, each draught a dream 
Of golden happiness! Fill, fill again 
And drink ! Here's to Thalarchus and his love ! 
We're gods to-night and flout the troublous world ! 

GLAUCO 

Hast tasted these delicious ortolans, 
Hermogenes? and these flamingo tongues? 
209 



COLLECTED POEMS 

I would I had a hundred palates now! 
Alas, why were we made with only one! 

HERMOGENES 

Thou'rt crammed as full as a cock's craw, Glauco! 

GLAUCO 

Oh that I had a craw to stow away 
These ortolans! The gods, Hermogenes, 
Were jealous when they made us, else why made 
Our small capacities all single? 

HERMOGENES 

True, 
Yet thou canst eat again. 

GLAUCO 

But when again 
Wilt find such feast as this! such ortolans, 
Such mullets, all the way from Mauritania! 
Such lampreys, luscious with ambrosial sauce, 
As though the gods themselves were in the 

kitchen! 
Such tender mushrooms, sweeter than — 

HERMOGENES 

Such wines! 
Thou hast forgot the wines! 
210 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



GLAUCO 

No, no ! drink not 
Hermogenes, before or when thou eat'st. 
'Tis the first canon of the feaster's art; 
For wine thickens the nicer taste and dulls 
The quintessential appetite, that sense. 
That cultured sense, whose fine discernment sifts 
The subtler flavours of the food, but has 
No lodgment in the gross and vulgar mouth. 
Then after thou has eat repletedly, 
Drink to the full, and in the vintage drown 
Thy woe, that thou canst eat no more. 

HERMOGENES 

Hercle! 
See, Glauco, Thais' beauty glows revealed ! 
Venus Epistrophia, thou art outdone! 

GLAUCO 

It is an art, Hermogenes, that few 
Attain. In eating, men are mostly beasts. 
That nice distinction which — 

{Enter Bacchanalians.) 

HERMOGENES 

ravishment! 
Behold Silenus and his glittering crew! 
Evoe! Fauns and Nymphs, Dryads and Naiads, 
211 



COLLECTED POEMS 

With lute and Father Pan's own mellow reed, 
With clash of cymbal and with beat of drum, 
With ivy wreath and verdant myrtle bough, 
With tossing arm and heaving breast! Evoe! 

GLAUCO 

Here, boy! That dish of lampreys I'll essay 
Again. And put that mullet by my side. 
Those locusts, too, place there. As I was saying, 
That nice discernment art alone attains 
Is won by long — 

HERMOGENES 

lo! Bacche! Evoe! 
It is the ivy-crown6d god himself, 
With all his Bacchanals! O wondrous sight! 
Thou guttering pageant, feasting the eager eye! 
Thou golden dream of fantasy, I leap 
For joy! Evoe! Bacche! lo! lo! 

GLAUCO 

How tinsel catches a light soul! Hi, boy! 
Bring me those ortolans Hermogenes 
Insultingly forgets. 

HERMOGENES 

How they disport 
Themselves! glorious rout! They sing, they 
dance, 

212 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS' 

They shout and leap with mirth and passion! 

See! 
The Naiads to the fountains run! The Fauns 
Pursue and seize the yielding njmaphs! Evoe! 

{First Chorus of Bacchanals) 

lo! Evan! 
Clash the cjnnbal! 
Crash the timbrel! 
Lash the drum! 
We come! We come! 
lo! Evan! 

Let the pipe shrill 
Through valley and hill! 
lo! Evan! 

Silenus and Pan, 
In the wild van, 

With riot and song, 

Ten thousand strong! 
lo! Evan! 

Bacchus, inspire! 
We breathe with thy fire! 
lo! Evan! 
213 



COLLECTED POEMS 

He who would stay us 
Remember Pentheus! 
lo! Evan! 

Clash the cymbal! 
Crash the timbrel! 

Lash the drum! 

We come! We come! 
lo! Evan! 

(Second Chorus of Bacchanals) 

lo! Bacche! lo! 
Twi-mothered god, 
With ivy-wreathed rod! 

lo! Bacche! lo! 

Lord of the vine, 
Life of the wine. 
We are thine, we are thine! 
We run and we dance. 
We leap and we prance, 
The green turf on; 
White-footed Naiad, 
Light-footed Dryad, 
Goat-footed Faun! 
We turn and we twirl. 
As leaves when they whirl, 
As swift waters swirl 
214 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

In the eddy's embrace; 
We twist and we spin, 
Wind out and wind in 

In the maze of the race; 
We crouch and we spring, 
Our arms toss and fling; 
We shout and we sing 
To Bacchus, our king! 

With lips wide apart. 

With swift beating heart, 
Wildly we chant. 
Heavy we pant. 
The breath coming scant, 

As we leap and we prance. 

Rush back and advance. 
As we dance, as we dance, as we dance 
To Bacchus, our king! 

THAIS 

Thalarchus, thou art pale! 

CHARMIDES 

Critias, awake! 
The great god Bacchus comes ! 

ANTIPHON 

Nor fire nor death 
Could rouse him now : his wits are drowned and 
sodden. 

215 



COLLECTED POEMS 

A DRYAD {to Aniiphon) 
I pluck thy beard, Tithonus. 

CHARMIDES 

Pluck it, fair nymph; 
Thou'lt never melt his snows; he's iced around 
With cold discretion twenty inches thick. 

DRYAD 

I'll be Aurora to his ancientness; 

I'll sit upon his knee and thaw him out. 

ANTIPHON 

Nay, wanton, scorch Charmides with thy flame; 
I'm old and seasoned now these sixty years 
I bear the buckler of experience 
Against thy shafts. 

THAIS 

Thalarchus, art thou ill? 
Thy hand is trembling, and thou spill'st the wine. 

ANTIPHON (to Dryad) 
Away, girl! The years have made me wise. 

CHARMIDES 

And sourer than an unripe grape. 
216 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

DRYAD 

No, no! 
How soft the silken silver of thy beard! 
Thy beard is older than thy face. Bacche! 
But thou'rt not old! Thou slanderest thyself; 
Thy skin's as soft as youth's, thine eye as clear. 

ANTIPHON 

ThouflattVstme! 

DRYAD 

I do but see thee close; 
Take off thy beard, and thou'rt as young as any. 

ANTIPHON 

Now, now! dost thou say truly! 

THAIS 

Speak Thalarchus! 
Like chiselled marble thou dost stand and stare! 

THALARCHUS 

Where art thou, Thais? Charmides! Antiphon! 
Where are the lights that made our banquet blaze? 
How dim, how chill, Hke breath from sepulchres, 
This fetid air! 

THAIS 

I hold thee by the hand — 
What spell is on him? 

217 



COLLECTED POEMS 



ANTIPHON 

'Tis the wine that mounts 
His brain, and weaves the foolish phantasy. 

THALARCHUS 

A mirk mist rises floating up as o'er 
A fen, and slowly moves and curls heavy 
And dun, yet ghastly with a bluish Ught 
As from a dying moon — and in it, see! 
A shadow like a giant's! 

THAIS 

I see naught. 
Save feast and feasters, a round of mirth and joy, 
A full blown rose of pleasure. Come, shake off 
This most unnatural and deadly humour. 
This cankerous bhght,this sick unwholesome dread 
That nips thy valour and thy wonted charm. 
And be thy gracious self again! 

THALARCHUS 

Hear'st not 
The rumble of vast voices gathering far. 
Like distant thunder in the womb of wrath! 

THAIS 

Naught but the songs of revel and of love. 
The joyous halloo of Bacchus and his crew, 
218 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

The cithern's silver cadence and the lute's, 
Free laughter and wild dalliance-echoing mirth. 

THALARCHUS 

Out of the muggy mist issues a stench, 
As from a thousand rotting carcasses. 
God! How it sickens the revolted sense! 

THAIS 

Nay ! 'Tis but the odor of the rose 
That makes the air most redolently sweet; 
And yonder font of Araby's perfumes, 
Plashing and sparkling in its jewelled bay, 
Casting their precious scents upon the breeze. 

THALARCHUS 

The shadow deepens! See! The cloud now 

swirls 
And parts; and, topping o'er the misty rheum, 
A lofty pillar rears its stony crest. 
And on it, lo! the figure of a man, 
In supphant attitude, all bent and bowed. 
As one crushed utterly! About him swarm 
And crowd a thousand hideous shapes, gibing 
And threatening ! Horrible! Oh, horrible! 

DEMONS 

Stinking hypocrite ! Bah ! 
Think'st thou to atone for others? 
219 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Thy frailty bear their sins! 

Bald fool on the pillar's top! 

Thou leprous scab of folly! 

Ha! ha! Hell shouts with laughter! 

SIMEON 

My God, my God! Help thou me in the trial! 
I faint with weakness ! 

DEMONS 

He faints, the cowardly wretch! 

A little pain, and he falls down, 

Overcome. Seize him, and rack him 

From head to foot. Crush him flat 

With hell's full vengeance. Shoot lightnings 

Through his spine, and in his eyeballs 

Spit keen fire to his brain. 

He'd make amends for other's sins, 

Would he? and bear the penalty, — 

This lump of foulness, this filthy clay, 

This idiot on the pillar's top. 

Unshorn, unkempt, unwashed, 

Imputing sanctity to dirt! 

Drivelling fanatic ! Hoary fool! 

SIMEON 

Upon thy merits. Lord, alone I lean : 
I have no strength but thine. Thou didst endure, 
220 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Within the garden's keep, the agony 

Of sin's embrace, and felt its fetid breath 

Upon the mirror of thy purity; 

And all the reeking tide of evil poured 

Its slimy floods upon thee, stifling thee. 

Till nature, pushed beyond her durance, swooned 

And sweated blood through all thine aching 

veins ! 
Pour from the precious treasury of thy pain 
Some Uttle grace to stay my impotence ! 
Fill up my emptiness with thy vast merit; 
For I but merit in thy merit. Lord, 
And gain but in thy gain. 

DEMONS 

Craven! poltroon! He's afraid; 
He dares not fight alone, 
And calls for aid upon another. 
We call upon no over-lord : 
Our strength's our own, all undivided! 
In independent might self-lords, 
We bend no cringing back, 
And hft no suppliant voice 
Whining to the t3a'ant! 
Upon him. Spirits of the Deep ! 
Rend him! flay him with your teeth 
From head to heel, till the red flesh 
221 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Quiver and palpitate ! This 
For the lusts of Antioch! 

SIMEON 

They scourged thee at thy pillar, Lord, till Thou 

Didst stand in thine own blood. The knotted lash 

That flaked thy flesh away — piteous sight! — 

Was the red tooth of foul concupiscence; 

And Thou didst stand in patience and endure, 

Silent, the ravenous fang that bit and tore 

Thine innocence in offering for our sins! 

And from a thousand wounds thy mangled flesh 

Wept bloody streams upon the guilty earth ! 

By thy fierce scourging, Lord, grant me new 

strength, 
And from the vessels of thy grace fill up 
My nothingness with power! 

DEMONS 

Again he seeks defence 

Behind another's might. 

The skulker! White-Uvered dotard! 

Dastard, we spit on thee! 

Hast thou not set thyself up 

On this high pillar's top, 

A shining mark of sanctity 

For all the country round, 

A protest and rebuke 

222 



The FEAST oj THALARCHUS 

To lustful Antioch! 
And for its sins acceptest 
The rigorous penalties; 
Endurest wind and rain 
And storm and cold and heat 
For its soft luxuries; 
Sufferest the filth and dirt 
Of thy scab-crusted body, 
Fouling these long and tedious years, 
For its nice daintiness, 
Its sensual cleanhness; 
Bearest hunger and thirst 
For its vile gluttonies, 
Silence and soHtude 
For its wild blasphemies 
And lascivious hours; 
The narrow prison of the pillar 
For its licentiousness! 
And thou'rt a saint, forsooth, 
And workest miracles. 
And hearest the people call thee saint, 
And pray to thee for help 
At thy tall pillar's base! 
A sorry saint, indeed, 
Who darest not own thy shadow, 
Nor comest forth to meet a foe 
Out of thine own valiance, 
223 



COLLECTED POEMS 

But, supplicating, whinest 
A mongrel prayer to Heaven, 
Timid and trembling! Bah! 
Psalm-droner ! Prayer-monger! 
Thou a saint! Ha! ha! 

SIMEON 

O Lord, upon thy handiwork look down 

With love's forbearing eye; for I am naught 

Within the searching splendour of thy sight, 

Whose vision equals to thyself alone. 

One Lord omnipotent and infinite. 

Maker of heaven and earth through thy sole 

Word! 
Within my mother^s womb thou madest me. 
And out of the abyss of nothingness 
Didst give me being through very love! — O 

Lord, 
My God, let me not fail to love again! — 
And nourished me and cherished me, a babe, 
Who knew thee not, in helpless infancy. 
And guided me through all the wayward years 
Of youth, and led me wandering in the paths 
Of sin back to the bosom of thy mercy! 
Let me not fail, my God, nor deem myself 
Before thee aught but thy poor creature, dust 
And ashes in thy hand! 

224 



The FEAST oj THALARCHUS 



DEMONS 

Grovellor! Abject worm, 
In vile abasement crawling! 
Cracked vessel of dishonour! 
Upon him, Spirits! Befoul him 
With utmost stench and filth! 
Traitor to his manhood! 
Betrayer of his sovereign will! 
Thou mimic of a saint! 
Thou manikin! Despiser 
Of the sacred precious gift 
Of freedom, kept by us alone 
Intact against the tyrant! 

SIMEON 

Lord, Thou dost solicit me with love. 
And gently knockest at my heart, calling 
Upon me sweetly! And I may close the door 
Against Thee, Lord, and answer not; for Thou, 
Lord, respectest in thy handiwork 
The gift of freedom, which Thou didst bestow 
Upon Thy creature, who but holds as he 
Receives from Thee. And when, O Lord, I bid 
Thee come, moved by thy blandishment. Thou 

com'st * 
In the swift whirlwind of thy love, and snatch'st 
225 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Me up in ecstasy, and hold's! me ravished 
With love ! For I am thine, Lord, by right 
Of sovereignty; and Thou art mine by might 
Of love! Thou gavest me myself, O Lord, 
And hold'st me in the hollow of Thy hand, 
Suspended o'er the void of nothingness; 
And then Thou gavest me thyself, Lord, 
Pouring thy goodness upon me like a flood 
Of pleasant waters on a barren plain! 
And Thou hast bought me with a price, O Lord 
And, in the covenant of Christ made flesh, 
Hast pledged thyself to me, and feedest me 
Upon thyself, till I abide in Thee, 
And Thou in me; whereof in Thee I find 
The fulness of all love, the round and sum 
Of all desire! for in Thee, Lord, I am 
And have my hfe, and move, O Lord, in Thee, 
Who art our perfect good and perfect love, 
First impulse and last term of liberty. 
For I, O Lord, am as a Uttle child, 
And Thou the eager mother of the child. 
Who first instils in him desire to walk, 
And leads him by the hand that he may walk, 
Then kisses him, rewarding him, because 
He walked, who neither had desire to walk, 
Save through the inspiration of her love, 
Nor yet had walked save by her guiding hand, 
226 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

And still withal of his own motion walked; 

For thine the grace, Lord, that moves, and 

thine 
The grace that aids, and thine the guerdoning 

grace. 
That crowns thy creature's free response, who 

moves 
To Thee by love divine solicited. 
And rests in Thee by love divine rewarded. 

DEMONS 

Caviller ! Word-monger ! 
Hoary sophist fouUng 

Man's Umpid intelUgence with murky phrases; 
Clouding the crystal brightness 
Of independent reason 
With muddy mysteries! 
We'll teach thee proper pride 
For the high dignity 
Of outraged intellect 
Betrayed and surrendered 
By thee in shameless fear. 
To be tramped mockingly 
Under the Tyrant's feet! 
Lift him in mid-air 
By the heels and dash him down 
Upon the rocks beneath, 
227 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Smashing his foolish skull, 
Scattering the muddled brains, 
That shame the high prerogative 
And abase the lofty puissance 
Of man's lordly mind — 
Rush upon him! Sweep him off! 

THALARCHUS 

My God, my God, let not the malignant host 
Prevail! 

THAIS 

Of whom, Thalarchus, speakest thou? 

ANTIPHON 

There is some maggot in his overwrought brain, 
That feeds upon his reason; let be, let be, 
He'll mend by morning. 

THALARCHUS 

Like a surcharged cloud, 
Green with the sulphurous wrath of pent hght- 

nings, 
They gather round him, ominous, muttering! 
And now with sudden fury unleash upon him! 
O God ! — See, they touch him not ! but break 
Against the pillar's edge as the giant sea 
Flinging against a beetling cliff is stayed 
228 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Roaring, and beaten back draws to the deep 
Again, foaming in angry impotence! 

SIMEON 

Thy brows were crowned with thorns, my God, 

piercing 
Thy temples with their spikes, and all around 
Thy head circled the barren coronal 
Pressed by the ribald soldiers' cruel staves 
Into the bruised flesh. This mock, Lord, 
Thou didst endure in silent humbleness. 
And wore this leafless diadem of pride 
For sins of those, who insolently boast 
The shallow plummet of their little minds 
Sounding the muddy waters of time's sea. 
Above the immeasurable, sacrosanct 
Eternal Reason of their God filHng 
The crystal oceans of the infinite. 
Hear me, O Lord, and let thy strength be 

mine! 
Lift thou me up to thy humility, 
Who only knows to conquer through thy pain! 
And in the bloody wine spilled from the vine, 
Whose bitter thorns envised thy tender brows, 
Sustain my weakness, and thy pardon pour 
Upon the pride of boastful Antioch ! 



229 



COLLECTED POEMS 



THALARCHUS 

His prayer prevails ! Their horrid ranks repulsed, 
Staggered and broken, scatter like thinning rack 
Before the first keen breath of crystal winds 
Clearing the labouring heavens. 

DEMONS (retiring) 
Not through thy might, Simeon, 
Is our due vengeance stayed: 
Another's power holds us, 
Tyrannously thrusts us back. 
Our valour undismayed 
Yields only for the moment. 
We'll come again new armed, 
And crush thee flat against 
The earth, and stamp thee down 
Into the mire, like dung! 

SIMEON 

Now praise to Thee, O Lord, my God, all praise! 
For thine the power and thine the glory. Lord, 
Who sittest on the Cherubim, the earth 
Thy lowly footstool and the heavens thy throne! 
Before thy servant Thou didst hold thy shield 
Against the demons' power, and Hell prevailed 

not! 
For who shall stand against thy might, Lord? 
230 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Before thy wrath the heavens are shrivelled, 
The earth is smoke, and all the goods thereof; 
The sun goes out in darkness, and the stars 
Flicker and die; time like a spent breath 
Evanishes, and space through all its utmost 

bounds 
Shrinks shuddering! Nor earth, nor heaven, nor 

hell 
May stand before thee. Lord, eterne and sole, 
Coequal with thyself alone in being. 
In power, in love and goodness infinite, 
Perfect and absolute and all-sufficient 
Within thyself who art eternal good ! 
But thou, O Lord, wilt not destroy thy works: 
Thou lov'st the goodly order of thy hand, 
And out of the disorder of our sins 
Hast drawn still sweeter harmonies of love 
Through him thine only Son, consubstant God 
With Thee, who stooping to our lowliness 
Lifted our nature to thy hohness, 
And spanned the chasm in nature and in grace, 
Which sin had breached through all our universe; 
And, bearing all the burden of our fault, 
Made gracious heaUng in vicarious pain, 
Consummate in the awful sacrifice 
Upon Golgotha's trembhng mount, when all 
The elements made moan, and stricken Nature, 
231 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Sighing through all her ways, in darkness veiled 
Her conscious eyes! Through Him, Lord, the 

power, 
By Him the victory, and unto Him 
The glory! I but a shaken reed fearful 
Before the blast, broken, save for thy hand 
Sheltering thy creature's weakness in the storm. 

THALARCHUS 

Oh, how subhme his words, how great the power 
Thereof, scattering the heUish crew Hke dust 
In the whirlwind, beating their malice down 
As the keen hail levels the boastful pride 
Of summer fields! O mystery of pain 
And death, that issuest in power and life, 
Grant me to see ! Upon my purblind heart 
Pour down thy deep irradiance, and pierce 
The fetid exhalations of my sins. 
That bhnd the soul's uncleansed and rheumy eye! 
Inflame me with desire, and purge me clean 
In penitential fires, till I, too, learn 
To love as Simeon, a holocaust in Christ 
For wanton Antioch's iniquities! 
Simeon, upon thy pillar's top pray thou 
For me, who mocked thee and thy God, and knew 
Thee not, nor him, and knowing not, reviled 
And called thee fool, fanatic, dotard, dolt, 
232 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

And heaped upon thee all the ribaldry 

Of the contemptuous world, the scorn of pride, 

The scoff, the jest, the easy ridicule 

Of sensual hearts, whose unpurged lust feeling 

The secret sting of others' holiness. 

As the sharp thorn beneath the rose, resents 

The silent imputation of its guilt. 

And brooking not the impeachment of its shame, 

With pitchy tongue envenomed in foul hates. 

Spits out the bawdy mockeries of its filth 

Upon the hlies of love's sanctities. 

Simeon, pray for me, whose sins thou takest 
In suffering upon the pillar's height, 

Under the pitiless sun, the icy stars. 

In pangs of nature and assaults of hell; 

Pray thou for me, who from the depths below 

Cries out in agonies of shame and calls 

In Christ's dear name for mercy and for pardon! 

SIMEON 

1 hear a voice as of one calling out 

And beating at the gates of mercy! Lord, 
Hear him and open unto him! 



THAIS 

His madness now addresses? 
233 



Who is't 



COLLECTED POEMS 

ANTIPHON 

One, Simeon, 
They call the Stylite, an idiot monk, who lives 
Upon a pillar's top near Antioch, 
Some twenty miles beyond the city's gates. 

THAIS 

I've heard the rumour of this strange disease. 

SIMEON 

Lord, by thy bloody sweat, have mercy. Lord! 

ANTIPHON 

Under the subtle witchery of the wine 

This monkish madness has seized upon his wits, 

And holds his fancy : it will pass anon. 

SIMEON 

By thy red scourging at the pillar, Lord, 
Have mercy! Let his cry come unto Thee! 

CHAKMIDES 

Heed not Thalarchus, Thais: to-morrow's morn 
Will see his health restored. — Come, I pledge 
Thy beauty in this draught! 

THAIS 

I'll drink with thee! 
Let Bacchus blow the fire and Venus lead! 
234 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



SIMEON 

Hearken unto Thy creature's cry, Lord! 
Gird not the bowels of mercy up, but hear! 
For Thou has said. Whoso shall knock, to him 
Shall it be opened. By the clotted thorns 
About thy brow, the raillery and the mock 
Of Pilate's soldiers spitting on Thee, Lord, 
Incline unto thy creature's lowliness, 
Who cries to thee from out the depths, and calls 
Unto the ear of thy compassion. Lord; 
For Thou didst take our frailty on thyself 
In pity of our sins. 

THALARCHUS 

Blessed be thou, 
O Simeon, thrice blessed thou who pray'st 
For me sunk in the foulness of my sins! 

SIMEON 

Thou wilt not, Lord, refuse a contrite heart; 
And Thou didst pardon Mary Magdalene, 
Who wept her sorrow on thy sacred feet, 
And him who cried to Thee beside thy cross; 
And Thou didst heal the lepers of their sores, 
Till they were fair to look upon; and him 
That lay asick of bed, thou didst unloose 
Of all his sins and bid him rise and walk; 
235 



COLLECTED POEMS 

For thou didst come with healing in thy hands 
And mercy unto life again for them 
That would arise from out their sinfulness 
To walk with thee. 

DEMONS {in distance) 

He's winning Thalarchus from us! 
Let him not prevail! Curse him! 
Were't not for the Despot's power, 
Who tyrannously holds us back, 
We'd snatch and hft his colunm 
In mid-air, and dash it to earth 
And smash it, and him with it, 
Who now, on his filthy eerie 
Of vantage, drones his prayers 
To listening Heaven against 
Our valour and our might! 
We ask but a fair field 
To smite him down and crush him! 
This vagabond of sanctity! 
Let him go back to his cell 
And mumble his unctuous prayers 
In secret to his fattened God. 
Hate seize us and rack us 
At mention of that name! 
Let him not stand conspicuous 
Upon the pillar's top before 
236 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

The people, to seduce them 
From their soft Hving 
And mellowed luxuries 
By his austere ensample 
Of dire mortification 
And penance vicarious! 
'Tis against the cloister's rule: 
Why do they tolerate it? 
But we'll o'ercome him yet: 
' Hell's not easily foiled! 
We have an arrow left 
In our quiver to pierce him. 
Ha! ha! we know a way 
To snare this filthy bird, 
And drag him from his nest. 
Ha! ha! we'll show him yet 
The craft of independent 
Intellect he so derides 
And flouts in abject obeisance 
To the Tyrant he worships! Ha! ha! 
We know a way to hme him! 
We'll double on the ancient fox 
Before he runs to earth again! 

SIMEON 

Let him not perish, Lord, who calls on Thee! 
As Thou didst suffer Simon to take Thy cross 
237 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Upon the heavy way to Calvary, 
Though asking not, yet after bearing gladly, — 
Suffer Thy creature now who pleads with thee, 
To share its burden humbly. Lord, with thee, 
And out of the vast fulness of thy love 
Draw balm and healing for his sinful hurts. 
On me, O Lord, the creature of thy hand, 
Who am as nothing in thy sight, the least 
Of those who serve Thee, of infirmities 
Full as a sieve of meshes holding nought, — 
On me, O Lord, the fellow of his hour, 
His country, and his city, pour the pain 
Of his offending, till thy justice shifts 
Her beam and balances her scale again 
In full amend of penance done. And this, 
Lord, prostrate before thee in the dust 
Of mine unworthiness, mote in the breath 
Of thine infinitude, I humbly pray 
Out of the preciousness of Christ's spent blood. 
Which purchased us with ransom infinite, 
Eternal price of Adam's and our sin! 

DEMONS (approaching) 

Woe! woe! we're overcome. 
Routed by Simeon's prayer! 
Great is his hoUness, 
That conquereth our might, 

238 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Lords of the deep with power 
O'er hell's dominion wide; 
Spirits of darkness knowing 
The potent secrets of nature, 
Seducing the lordly race 
Of men to open rebellion 
Against their Maker. Woe! woe! 
Our pride is fallen, our boast 
Is broken, crushed down flat 
By Simeon's might in prayer. 
Woe to us, woe ! Keener 
Than pangs of hell the shame 
Of defeat by Simeon brought 
Upon our puissant ranks 
Broken against the rampart 
Of his potent prayer, 
As the dusty simoon breaks 
Against the bulwarked mountain! 
Woe! woe! O shameful woe! 
Hate unto him forever! 

SIMEON 

Bear down upon me, Lord, bear down and plunge 
Me in the abyss of emptiness, whence I 
Was drawn by Thee, the creature of thy love! 
The clamour of hell is but a noisy wind 
Before Thee, vain as froth upon the wave. 
239 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The arrow of their hate they aim at Thee, 
I but the seeming mark. For Thine, O Lord, 
The power that scatters them; and they, O Lord, 
As I, are but the creatures of thy breath. 
Hardened against Thee in their pride, envious 
Of man whom thou hast made to fill their place. 
And I am but an empty vessel filled 
With the omnipotence of prayer, which Thou 
In largess of thy love hast poured in me; 
And sufferest me to use against their power, 
Whose damning praise is but the silken snare 
Of flattery, with which bold Satan once 
Essayed to take the soul of Christ himself! 
And Christ's the glory sole against the power 
Of hell broken by him forever! 

DEMONS (on right side, disguised now as Angels of 

Light) 
Hail, Simeon, victor o'er the hellish host! 
By Heaven sent, we come to solace thee 
With happy tidings and assurance glad 
Of Heaven's high approval. Thou hast fought 
The goodly fight and won. Hail to thee, saint! 

SIMEON 

Now praise to Jesus Christ alone! To Him 
The glory, whose right hand of power reaches 
To midmost hell! 

240 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

DEMONS {on left side, undisguised) 
Why speaks he the Terrible Name, 
That makes all hell shudder 
Unto its deepest deeps! 
Curse it! curse it! curse it! 

DEMONS {on right side) 
Rest thee, Simeon; for thou hast earned thy meed. 
Behold the raging elements repressed, 
Which hell with mahce vain against thee roused. 
And all the air that lately shook with storm 
And roared, rent with the crackUng thunderbolt, 
Slumbers in mellow quiet and breathes soft balm. 
Down from the glowing arches of the night, 
Peace, doveUke on her rediscovered nest. 
In feathery silence droops, and dreaming broods; 
Tender as mothers' eyes upon their babes. 
And pure, the ghmmering ardour of the stars 
Falls on the shadowed earth and wearied men 
Sunk in the bath of slumber after toil, 
To wake upon the coming morn refreshed 
Against the burden of the hastening day. 
All nature sleeps and rests, drawing new hfe 
From the deep fountains of repose; for so 
The wisdom of the Maker foreordained. 
Dividing night from day. Rest thee, and sleep, 
O holy Simeon, while we watch and guard. 
241 



COLLECTED POEMS 



SIMEON 

The rounded beauty of the night, thy hand, 

Lord, in the beginning builded up. 

And jQxed the pillars of the firmament, 

And gave their motions to the wheeling stars, 

Making thy glory manifest on high : 

Thy word uttered above the void brought forth 

The solid earth and all that hve thereon. 

The circling seas and all that swim therein, 

The hquid air and all that fly therein. 

Each in its place and moving in its sphere 

With variant note blending concordant song. 

And making in the conched ear of Heaven 

Vast harmony. And so the whole round world 

And the respondent heavens, Lord, utter 

Thy glory and make manifest thy praise! 

For thine the gentle silence of the night. 

And thine the softness of the balmy air, 

And thine the sweet refreshment of repose 

And strength renewed in man and beast and 

fowl; 
And thine the glory of the golden morn. 
And all the splendour of the rising sun 
Shedding the benediction of its hght 
Upon the waking world. 



242 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

DEMONS {on right side) 

Nay, holy man, 
Rest thee; and whilst thou slumberest, drawing 
New vigour from the crystal fonts of sleep, 
We'll raise on high the hymn of praise. 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon, 
Pray thou for me, and at the feet of Christ 
Make intercession for my grievous sins ! 

DEMONS (on right side) 

Thou'rt wearied, Simeon, and thy force is spent. 
The very desert sleeps, and darkness shrouds 
The land heavy with silence, wooing all 
To rest. Deep is the shadow of the night. 
And nature yields responsive to the law 
Ordained in the beginning. Spent art thou 
With battling 'gainst the routed hosts of hell. 
And all thy racked and bruised frame leaden 
With weight of toil drags down thy spirit worn 
With unremitted prayer against thy foe. 
Respite thy vigilance and prayerful might; 
And to great nature's hest surrendering. 
In due obedience to its Maker's law. 
In slumber steep thy flagging powers, and rest. 
243 



COLLECTED POEMS 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon, Simeon, pray thou for me whose heart 
Is withered with his sins! 

ANTIPHON 

The night hath past 
The middle heavens two hours and more: 'tis late. 
I go. Farewell, good friends. 

CHARMIDES 

Love knows no hour: 
I stay with thee, Thais, be it night or day. 

THAIS 

Now is the ripened hour of revel. Stay, 
O Antiphon, and drink with me! I touch 
Thy goblet with my hps. Wilt not refuse 
My pledge! 

ANTIPHON 

I yield the golden moment, Thais, 
And staying court the precious, sweet delay. 

THALARCHUS 

Simeon, Simeon, pray thou for me whose soul 
Lies in the darkness of its evil days! 
244 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 



SIMEON 

Let him not perish, Lord, whose voice I hear 

Out of the night in supplication raised ! 

Renew his heart, and thy refreshment pour 

Upon his bruised spirit crying out ! 

If Thou, O Lord, wilt mark iniquities, 

Lord, who shall stand? Spare us, and gather not 

Our sins against the day of wrath, but hear, 

O Lord, and let our prayer come unto thee! 

Thy mercy. Lord is even above thy works; 

And thou hast made thy mercy manifest 

In Christ, who stood for our iniquities, 

And took our sins away! Have mercy, Lord, 

And by Christ's blood hearken unto our cry! 

DEMONS {on left side) 

Confusion upon him! Tempt him! 
Let him not escape! Tempt him! 

DEMONS (on right side) 

Heaven commend thy vigilance, saint, 
And we but tried thee for the Lord. The voice 
Thou hearest crying is the voice of one 
Who prays in Antioch, by Heaven's power 
Permitted through the thick and heavy night 
To see thee on the pillar's top, and, touched 
245 



COLLECTED POEMS 

By grace at sight of thee, cries out for pardon. 
The ways of Heaven are merciful, nor time 
Nor place resists the beating floods of grace 
Poured from the copious fountains of its love : 
E'en in the midst of riot and of sin 
The impetuous tide of mercy snatches him, 
And bears him to the deeps of love beyond. 
And Heaven, to solace thee in recompense 
Of all thou hast endured and overcome. 
Puts back the murky curtain of the dark, 
And suffers thee to look upon the scene: 
Behold Thalarchus and the wanton feast, 
Where thou hast conquered and beat back the 

lords 
Of hell! Look, Simeon, and rejoice! 

THALARCHUS 

Pray, pray, 
O Simeon; for my heart is dust, my soul 
Ashes, and all my years but bitterness! 

SIMEON 

The Lord will water thee and make thee sprout; 
For He is Lord of love. Mighty His power, 
That overcometh death and puts down sin 
Under his feet! How wonderful thy ways, 
O Lord, and no man knoweth them; for who 
Hath been thy counsellor? For of thee. Lord, 
246 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

And by thee are all things, and in thee all, 
Who are from the beginning sole, and are 
Eternal term unto thyself alone! 
Praise ye the Lord, ye heavenly creatures, praise! 
Ye Cherubim and Seraphim and Powers 
And all Angelic Hierarchies ranged 
In flaming choirs, and all ye blessed hosts 
And saints that bask within his beam eterne. 
Ye spotless lihes of Christ's fruitful love, — 
Praise ye the Lord through all your ringing ranks ! 
And thou, whose virgin flesh didst bear His Son, 
Alone of Adam's race untouched of sin. 
Co-worker in Redemption's plan by grace 
Of Him who had regard for thy humility, 
And Ufted thee above all creatures else 
In Heaven's celestial ranks or on the earth 
Unto that dignity of motherhood 
So sacrosanct that none save Him alone 
May comprehend the height and depth and term 
Of its exalted holiness, — praise ye 
The Lord! Rejoice and be glad with me 
Who, falling down before His Face, lift up 
My voice and cry out in exceeding joy. 
Seeing this marvel of the Lord's right hand! 
For wonderful the starry heavens above, 
The unseen fountains of the crystal sea. 
The far foundations of the fixed earth, 
247 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The little things and great of all that is, 

The tiny creature floating in the light, 

The spaces of the yawning universe, 

And time's wide tract from utmost shore to shore 

Of his eternity so wonderful 

And beautiful in number, weight, and measure, 

Balanced within his all-sustaining hand. 

And moving in the order of his power 

To that ordained and harmonious end 

Set in His wisdom for their perfect close, — 

Praise ye the Lord for these His mighty works. 

But praise ye more beyond all praise of words. 

Beyond all utterance of human tongue. 

Beyond the vastest reach of angel's thought, 

That mystery of grace and farthest love. 

Touching the sinner's hard averted will. 

Subduing pride and melting all the soul 

To tears, till it incHne to him again; 

And spurning all its hated servitude. 

Inviolate of all constraint, rises 

Enfranchised from its reeking bed of sin 

And freely answers to the call of Love ! 

O wondrous miracle, O mystery 

Of Love beyond all knowing! Praise ye 

The Lord, ye hills and mountains, valleys and 

plains, 
earth and heaven, and ye shining stars, 
248 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Ye blessed hosts of happiness, ye Powers, 
Ye Dominations, Angels and Archangels, 
Till all the universe of high and low 
Trembling, responsive with the harmony 
In circling joy about the throne of Love, 
Sing in the sweUing chorus of its praise, 
Hosanna to the Lord! Hosanna! Hosanna! 

THALARCHUS 

O waters of great joy upon my soul, 
Refreshing all my faintness! On the wings 
Of morning am I Hf ted up ! balm 
Of healing to my wounded spirit! Simeon, 
Thy words are holy courage in my heart! 

DEMONS {on left side) 

Confusion on him! Tempt him! 
He prays hke a mighty fountain 
Leaping to Heaven — tempt him! 
Ye sluggish spirits, shame 
On your vaunted cunning, boasters! 
Shall it be said in hell 
That this broken and wasted fool 
Worsted the high intelUgence 
Of pure spirits heaven-born. 
Though cast out by the Tjrant 
By sheer force — shame us not! 
249 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Make no delay! Tempt him! 

And in this subtle net 

Drag him from his high perch! 

DEMONS {on right side) 

Thy prayers have wrenched Thalarchus from the 

grip 
Of hell e'en midst the orgies of the feast! 
Upon thy victory feed thine eager soul; 
For Heaven vouchsafes this sweet reward. Be- 
hold 
The banquet's vast luxuriance scattered 
By prodigality with wanton hands 
Careless of use. The enamoured heavy air, 
Pregnant with perfume of a thousand flowers, 
Falling in flaky rain from unseen hands, 
Melts all the soul to indolence, and soothes 
The swooning sense; the fountains plash and 

murmur 
In dreamy rhythm on the drowsy ear, 
Blending with throbbing music soft and low, 
Whose gentle cadences, from fretted string 
And oaten stop blowing its mellow sound. 
Mingle their dulcet harmonies, steaUng 
Into the brain and mellowing the spirit 
To sensuous languors. See, around about 
A thousand lamps, feeding on scented oils 
250 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

In jewelled transparencies encaged, throw out 
Their irised radiance, shedding warmth and light 
Upon the gleaming marbles of the hall, 
Teeming with mirth and revelry and love. 
Rest thee, O Simeon, a Uttle moment here; 
And let thy wearied eye, that naught beholds 
Save bhnding leagues of sandy wastes stretching 
Beneath the beating glare of desert suns. 
Couch now an instant on the mellow scene. 

SIMEON 

Bleak were thy hills, O Judah, when He came, 
My Lord and God, unsheltered from the winds, 
Save for the lonely stable's broken thatch; 
And for his tender limbs the manger's straw, 
Cropped by the dumb, unconscious brutes, that 

shared 
His lowliness. Cast out by men, he found 
Rude habitation with the beasts alone; 
Nor light nor warmth diffused their tenderness 
Around, nor ministrant were servile hands 
In purple and fine linen to array 
His innocence. He came unto his own. 
And they received him not, and knew him not, 
Rejected and despised of men. O Lord, 
My God, e'en in the cradle thou didst choose 
The way of sorrow, and, a babe, espouse 
251 



COLLECTED POEMS 

The bitter bride of poverty, to point 
The way of those vv^ho love. O Holy Babe, 
So low in thy humility that man, 
By thine ensample, may be Ufted up, 
Raise us from out this slough of wantoness, 
And by the desolation of thy crib 
Forgive us this our sin's luxurious ease! 

THALARCHUS 

O Christ, thy poverty be mine! 

DEMONS {on right side) 
The savour of rare viands rise up to whet 
The appetite, and moist the wrinkled Up 
Of hunger with sharp longing. 

SIMEON 

Thou, O Lord, 
Didst fast within the desert forty days, 
And Satan tempted thee! 

DEMONS (on right side) 

Thy throat is parched. 
And all thy tongue aflame with thirst; for dry 
And hot the air under the desert sun, 
And small the share of water brought to thee 
By thy forgetful brethren of the cells. 
Packed in its snowy bed the crater stands. 
And cool the wine upon the crackled Up; 
252 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Refreshing is the sweet, red draught charging 
The feverish veins with ruddy life again. 

SIMEON 

When thou, O Lord, upon thy cross didst cry, 
"I thirst," they gave thee vinegar and gall. 

DEMONS {on right side) 
Thou'rt ever mindful, Simeon, of thy Lord; 
And valorous art thou in thy vigilance. 
All heaven rejoices in thy holiness. 
Thalarchus thou hast won by dint of prayer 
Accepting all the burden of his sins. 
For this high Heaven permitted the assault 
Of hell to-night to try thy fortitude; 
And gloriously hast thou conquered, Simeon. 
And now let not thy charity wane cold; 
But as the imperial sun in heaven's high arch. 
Whose glowing eye looks down upon the earth's 
Outstretched demesne from morn's to eve's red 

marge. 
And sheds celestial heats on all alike, 
So let the furnace of thy saintly love 
Beam down its radiance on all sinners here. 
Have pity on them, Simeon, and draw from 

Heaven, 
Through the vicarious offering of thyself, 
Pardon and mercy. Heaven will hear; for what 
253 



COLLECTED POEMS 

More grateful in heaven's eye, after the Lord's 
Own sacrifice, the source and root of all. 
Than the abandonment of utter love 
Making atonement for another's sin? 
For greater love than that a man lay down 
His Ufe for other, no man hath. 

SIMEON 

Yea, Lord, 
Thy life Thou didst lay down for each and all. 
Thy love immeasurable, and as thy love 
Thy sacrifice. And Thou wast hfted up 
To draw all things to Thee, and, drawing, win 
The hearts of men to sacrifice of self. 
And lose themselves in love of Thee, to find 
Themselves in Thee transfigured! I, O Lord, 
Seek only Thee, and them in Thee, and Thee 
In them, whom Thou hast bought with a great 

price! 
Thou callest them, Lord: grant them to hear! 
And in thy mercy lift them up ! 

DEMONS {on right side) 

Simeon, 
Behold Thais, the chiefest sinner here. 
Steeped in the slumber of the wine! Pray thou 
For her, a sinful daughter of weak Eve. 
Let not such beauty be the prey of hell ! 
254 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Not Eve herself came from her Maker's hand 
More fair. Slipped from the fillet's amorous 

clasp, 
Her locks, like silken gold from looms of light. 
Shower down a streaming glory gleaming about 
The whiteness of her shoulder's ivory arch. 
As star-shafts on the billow's crested foam; 
Her lips incarnadine, her flushed cheek — 

SIMEON 

They gashed thy hands and feet with nails, O 

Lord, 
And, lifting up thy heavy gibbet, plunged 
It in its earthy socket shuddering, 
Tearing thy tender, gaping wounds anew. 
And racking all thy jarred and bruised frame 
With sudden agony! Pierce me, Lord, 
With that fierce pain, and rack this recreant 

flesh. 
The weak inheritance of Adam's sin. 
That through thy merit I may somewise share 
With thee the dire atonement of her sin ! 

DEMONS {on left side) 

He escapes ! Confusion and shame ! 
He escapes! 



255 



COLLECTED POEMS 

DEMONS (on right side, throwing off disguise) 

We are baffled! 
The T3rrant suffers us not 
To gain one slightest foothold 
Within the circle of his soul! 

DEMONS (on left side) 
Upon him! Seize him! 
Tear him! Smash his pillar! 

DEMONS (on right side) 
Unleash your pent rage hke hail! 
Assault him and crush him! Come! 
Let all rush on hke furious fire! 

THALARCHUS 

All hell vomits itself upon him! Lord, 
Thy servant guard! Portentous they loom, 

monstrous, 
In size giants, in shape most horrible; 
With eyes of fire and \vide outstretching vans 
With flaming hghtnings veined, onward they 

sweep, 
As though to engulf the world in heUish storm! 
But no! See, Heaven forbids! They sway! 

They stop ! 
And now as swollen clouds, pregnant with death, 
256 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Meeting an adverse wind, are stayed and blown 

back, 
Their dreadful host, sullen and muttering, 
Recede before the breath of Heaven! And, lo! 
They melt away into the empty air! 
{Enter Xenares) 

XENARES 

My lord, the night is dying in the west, 

And dawn appears. The guests are gone, save 

those 
Who he here drowned in wine. The air is dank 
With poisonous humours of the heavy morn, 
And thou art pale. Wilt go within? 

THALARCHUS 

'Tis gone! 
Evanished! gracious vision by Heaven 
vouchsafed ! 

XENARES 

What, my lord? 

THALARCHUS 

The wonder of it! 

XENARES 

My lord, 
Wilt come within? 'Tis damp : thou'rt ill. 
257 



COLLECTED POEMS 



THALARCHUS 

I am, 
Xenares, ill and well. 

XENARES 

How's that, my lord? 

THALARCHUS 

111 with the past, and well with what's to come. 

XENARES 

My lord, I do not understand. 

THALARCHUS 

Last night 
Thou saw'st me ill. 

XENARES 

Nay, my good lord, never 
Did health mantle more ruddy in thy cheek, 
Nor shine so proudly in thine eye. 

THALARCHUS 

Yet was I ill; 
Sick unto death ! Ill in the lustful riot 
Of misspent days, those precious pearls of time, 
Which I, with wanton and regardless hand, 
Flung on the dung-heaps of this wasteful world; 
But now, Xenares, well in the high hope 
258 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

Of Simeon's prayers and mine own penitence 
Rooted within the rich, most precious earth 
Of Christ's vast charity. 

XENARES 

May't please thee, sir. 
To go within? 

THALARCHUS 

No, Xenares — hear me : 
Of all my goods take inventory: pay 
What I may owe out of my fortune's wreck, 
Reserving for thyself a moiety 
To keep thee from the fangs of beggary. 
What may remain, give to the poor. To-day 
I manumit thee : thou art free. I know 
Thy worth and honest heart, and so repose 
My trust. I go from Antioch. 

XENARES 

Indeed, 
My lord, thou'rt very ill. I pray thee — 

THALARCHUS 

Nay, 
Be not thus urgent. Hence I go forever. 
I've quitted me the burden of this world. 
The brave apparel of its swelling pride 
I here discard, resigning all its pomp, 
259 



COLLECTED POEMS 

Its purfled show, and strutting pageantry. 

And I, who clothed me in its trumperies, 

And waxed on all its fustianed vanities 

As flaunting weeds upon the mucky earth, 

These many and gross years, pitiless 

Now scythe the rank and vicious growth, whose 

bane 
So long infected all the blood, and killed 
The tender shoots of virtue in the soul. 
Behold, Xenares, how the sober dawn. 
In ghostly vapours creeping up the east, 
Unmasks the glamour of the dying night, 
And on the sodden ashes of our feast. 
That flamed in furious riot this little while. 
Spreads pale and gray as ghastly death 
Upon the face of one who yields his soul. 
So pass the sudden heats of time, the lusts 
Of appetite, the hunger of possession. 
Ambition's passion, love's desire, — all, 
Yes, all that men, unrecking lower things 
By higher lights, set heart upon below. 
Mere bavin for the fiery tongue of change. 
Scarce kindled ere in ashes! I've seen 
This night, Xenares, through high Heaven's 

mercy. 
That which has shaken all my soul and torn 
From out its ancient roots my tree of life 
260 



The FEAST of THALARCHUS 

To plant anew in other soil, with hope 

Of fruit celestial ! For now I know, 

My soul illumined by that kindly beam, 

The deep philosophy of poverty, 

The wealth of having naught, the precious gain 

Of self-surrender, riches infinite. 

Out of the nothingness of this base earth 

Transmuted in th' alembic of God's love! 

'Tis this I seek. Farewell: I go, 

Xenares, and return no more. 

XENARES 

My lord, my lord! 



261 



